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Making Home Peaceful 

SEQUEL TO 

‘‘ MAKING HOME HAPPY 


/ BY 

MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE 

I A 

Author of 

*• MAKING HOME HAPPY/' ETC. 



HOME LIFE PUBLISHING CO.-Limited 

PUBLISHERS 

Battle Creek, Michigan 


‘TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 


LH^ranr »f CeRgpQfjfe 
Qf t(i« 

APR 1 4 1900 

ISegUtar of Copyff^hfi^ 

'P^3- 

' A 1 5 ^ 


5 6 3 9 S 


\ Copyright 1899 fi 

1) By MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE \ 


SECOND COPY, 

0 b 


PREFACE 


D 


N THEORY, home without happiness is 
as unthinkable as heaven without bliss. 
But earthly homes are often imperfect. 
That peace of mind, and heart, and life, 
which is essential to unalloyed enjoy- 
ment, is sometimes lacking. Such a lack 
is fatal if allowed to continue ; but, for- 
tunately, it is not irremediable. 

In this book it has been the supreme pur- 
pose of the author to show the reader, by 
means of a happily conceived object-lesson, 
how the true spirit of the ever-blessed Christ- 
love can be given tangible expression in every- 
day home life, and how the incoming of that^ 
love will transform a joyless abode into a happy 
home. Too often this must be accomplished 
through the ministry of pain and sorrow. Ear 
better to read and heed a lesson of love and peace, 
and of escape from unloveliness and strife, such as 
is so plainly and clearly set forth in these pages. 

5 




To be forewarned is to be thrice armed. For 
this reason such an object-lesson as the making of 
a home that is full of strife a blessed haven of peace 
and content is valuable to set before all members 
of every household. Both the homes that are, and 
those that are to be, will profit thereby. Those 
that have happiness and peace will appreciate and 
prize this blessing the more, and those that have 
it not will desire it. The hearts of them that are 
apt to strive will be tempered, and softened,- and 
beautified, and they who are already sweet and kind 
will be strengthened and perfected in every good 
and lovely trait. 

PUBUSHERS. 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I 

Page 

Waiting for Jimmie ii 

CHAPTER II 

A Night in the Old Home at Jonesville ...... 20 

CHAPTER III 

A Peep into the Beardsley Home. 28 

CHAPTER IV 

Grandpa’s New Home 37 

CHAPTER V 

Priest and Priestess 64 

CHAPTER VI 

Tom and Reginald 72 

CHAPTER VII 

Tom’s Promise 78 

CHAPTER VIII 

Who is the Thief? 86 

7 


CHAPTER IX 

Page 

Poor Little Tim 93 

CHAPTER X 

Reginald’s Duplicity 100 

CHAPTER XI 

Pom’s Trials 122 

CHAPTER XII 

Grandpa’s Death 13 1 

CHAPTER XIII 

Tom and Maggie 151 

CHAPTER XIV 

Aunt Linda’s Letter 159 

CHAPTER XV 

A Talk with Reginald 170 

CHAPTER XVI 

In Deep Disgrace 185 

CHAPTER XVII 

A Night of Anguish 201 

CHAPTER XVIII 

The Reaping Time 206 

CHAPTER XIX 

Making Home Peaceful 219 

8 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

Yours for Peaceful Homes Frontispiece 

Waiting for Jimmie 17 

“What! Don’t Tell Me this is Jimmie Beardsley ! ’’ 23 

Reginald 32 

Flossie . 33 

“James is a Comin’, Ellen!’’ 41 

“Can’t You See, Grandpa? You’s Got Eyes!’’ ... 47 

Little Tim 56 

Trot, Trot, Trot, Back and Forth, Fly the Little 
Feet 61 

The Old House Looked so Cheerless 94 

Grandmother Sharpe 132 

Grandpa Beardsley 133 

“Father!’’ There is no Reply 149 

A Fair Young Girl is Sitting by the Window . . .153 

The Wheels Paused a Moment, as if Dreading to 
Make the Fearful Plunge 183 

“Ellen! Ellen! Pm a Goin’ to Die, and I Ain’t 
Ready!’’ 209 

“ My Punishment IS Greater Than I can Bear!’’ . . 215 

Look ! Along this Platform a Man is Making His 
Way 223 


9 



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WAITING FOR JIMMIE 

n DON’T see how in the world we can do it, 
Jimmie ! ” exclaimed young Mrs. Beardsley, 
peevishly. “ I suppose I am willing to do as much 
for your father as daughters-in-law generally are 
expected to do ; but dear me ! there ’s a limit to 
everything.” 

“ I know there is, Ellen ; but it seems hard, now 
poor Jennie ’s gone, to leave him in the old house 
alone.” 

There was a suspicious huskiness in James 
Beardsley’s voice, and a look in his eyes that his 
wife knew very well meant an eafnest determina- 


II 


12 


Making Home Peaceful 


tion to carry his point. Nevertheless, hers was a 
nature that could not readily yield, even when her 
conscience told her she was in the wrong. 

‘‘Well, the fact is, James,’’ — Mrs. Beardsley 
always called her husband “James” when she 
wished to be impressive, — “ the fact is, we have no 
place to put him. Mother has the west room, and 
I had intended to let Reginald have the front bed- 
room up-stairs ; but if Father Beardsley must come, 
why, there ’s an end of it.” 

“ I am not willing to have father stay all alone, 
Ellen. I coiild not sleep at night, and know that 
I had refused him a home in his old age. I know 
it ’s hard for you, but — ” 

“Yes, it is hard,” whimpered Mrs. Beardsley, 
dashing away a tear ; “ but I can do it, of course ; 
I always expect to give up for other people. Our 
son can sleep in the garret, I suppose, — poor boy ! 
With Flossie and the baby, I have my hands full 
enough now, seems to me, without — ” and Mrs. 
Beardsley finished her argument with a sob. 

Jimmie Beardsley was in a quandary, — some 
people called him “ Jimmie ” yet. He knew very 
well what his duty was ; and though his inclination 
and duty pointed in the same direction, — for he 


Waiting for Jimmie 


13 


dearly loved his father, — he knew well that it 
would be like rowing against the tide to oppose his 
wife, whose will was usually law with him. But 
duty triumphed. He would not leave his old father 
alone. He would bring him to his own home 
without delay. How lonely he must be without 
Jennie ! 

Poor Jennie ! she had faithfully stayed with her 
old father year after year, waiting upon him de- 
votedly ; nursing him when he was ill ; and being 
eyes for him when the relentless hand of time had 
thrown a mantle of blackness over him, and touched 
the gentle, kindly eyes with his cruel fingers, and 
with the breath of his thin lips had blown the light 
of the sun all but out of them. ‘‘ My little Jennie,’’ 
as the old deacon fondly called her, had stayed on 
after the others had gone, — stayed on, until the 
dark-eyed man who had in vain urged her to come 
and make his ‘‘home happy” had forsaken her, — 
stayed until the roses had faded from her cheek, 
and the light from her eyes ; and now she was gone. 
The letter that the deacon had scrawled with trem- 
bling hand, and almost sightless eyes, had told 
them all about it, and it was this that had given 
rise to the conversation quoted above. 


H 


Making Home Peaceful 


“ It is strange the telegram informing us of Jem 
nie’s death could have been so delayed. Poor 
father ! I only hope he ’ll be contented here. O, 
if only I could have seen my sister once more ! ” 
mused the sad-hearted man, to whom the news of 
his beloved sister’s sudden death had come with 
crushing weight. 

Mrs. Beardsley said no more. Argument, she 
knew, was of no avail. She must prepare for her 
added “ burden,” as she looked upon it, and make 
the best of it. That afternoon found James Beards- 
ley on the way to Jonesville. On the train he had 
time for that quiet thought and reflection for which 
the hurried man of business and many cares seldom 
took a moment. But now he could think it all 
over, — of his leaving the old farm so many years 
ago ; of his subsequent marriage ; of the steadfast 
faithfulness and devotion of his beloved Jennie ; of 
his mother, so long since resting ; of the death of 
their older sister under the sunny skies of India, 
her chosen field of labor for the Master ; and of his 
brother Paul’s unceasing service in the same far-off 
clime. Then he thought of his own unworthiness 
and unfaithfulness. He felt indeed like a prodigal 
son, — a wanderer from his Father’s house. The 


Waiting for Jimmie 


15 


rush and worry of the years which had intervened 
between the present and the happy, careless days 
of his boyhood, had driven him farther and farther 
away from his Master. 

James Beardsley closed his eyes, from which the 
tears trickled slowly, and was a boy again. He 
could hear once more his little sister’s merry laugh 
as they romped together over the old haymow, or 
chased the butterflies that flitted over the dewy 
fields of clover. He thought of his own sorrowful 
home-leaving ; of his discontent, and his longing 
for the great world ; of his father’s trembling fare- 
well, and his “ God bless you, Jimmie ; ” and of his 
rosy sister’s silent tears as she said “ Good-by ” to 
her “other self,” as she called him. And as he 
mused, his heart grew tender ; and the first real 
prayer he had offered for many years rose to his 
lips. He had offered many formal prayers ; but 
this was a prayer for mercy and forgiveness, and 
for strength to lead a more unselfish life. 

It was sunset of the next day before the brake- 
man called the familiar “ Jonesville ! ” How nat- 
ural it sounded ! O, if only Jennie were at the old 
station to meet him ! How well he remembered 
her rosy cheeks and her brown eyes. How she 


1 6 Making Home Peaceful 

used to like the pretty “ pep’mints ’’ that Jack 
Somerville gave them. O, those days ! Was it 
possible that he was a bearded man, wise and hard- 
hearted, from rough contact with the great world ? 
an innocent boy yesterday — a man to-day ! 

James Beardsley walks along the familiar streets 
as if in a dream. How low and dumpy the stores 
and business offices look ! The few people in the 
streets and sitting in the doors stare at him ; they 
see that he is a stranger, and strangers are some- 
thing out of the ordinary in Jonesville. Ah ! there 
is the old house ; how familiar the slim poplars 
look that stand before the gate ! Jennie and he 
used to play they were giant sentinels. A strange 
dog hurries out, and growls ominously. Look ! 
there is his father. He is sitting on the old veranda, 
with his head, snowy with age, bowed on his hand. 
The last rays of the autumn sun are shining upon 
him through the rent places in the tangle of vines 
at his back. The old man starts up at the sound 
of the dog, and an eager, questioning look comes 
into his dim eyes. He can just discern the form of 
a man, but he does not know him. It is a poor, 
broken-down old man that our traveler finds ‘‘ wait- 
ing for Jimmie.” 



2 


17 




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Waiting for Jim^nie 


19 


‘‘ Father ! 

“Yes, Jimmie ! ’’ and the strong man throws 
himself on his knees at his father’s feet ; and as 
the old deacon’s fingers twine among the jetty 
locks caressingly and smooth the broad forehead 
tenderly, James Beardsley forgets but that he is a 
child again. 


CHAPTER 11 


A NIGHT IN THE OLD HOME AT JONESVILLE 

KNEW you’d come, Jimmie ; . Jennie said, 
just before she shut her pretty eyes, that 
Jimmie ’d come. But O, the days have seemed so 
long since she left me ! You ’re all I ’ve got 
now, Jimmie: ’t is n’t anywise likely I shall ever 
see Paul again, till I meet him and mother and 
Emma and little Jennie — up yonder.” 

‘‘ Don ’t speak so, father ! you ’ll live a long, 
long time yet. Let ’s see ; you ’re only eighty-four ! 
that ’s not old, — no, that ’s not old, — and I ’ve 
come for you ; we ’ll be ready in a day or two to 
go back to Harrisburg. I ’ve a large house, you 
know, — built an addition since you were out there, 
— that must be as much as twelve years ago.” 

“Yes, Jimmie, twelve years ago come Christmas. 
I remember your Regie was a little bit of a chap 
then. But I didn’t stay long enough to get ac- 
quainted with Ellen.” 


20 


A Night in the Old Home at Jonesville 21 

“ Well, Ellen ’s a good-hearted girl ; I hope 
you ’ll like her. Reginald’s a fine boy, fourteen 
years old and past, — large for a boy of his age, — 
and Flossie ’s four , — how you’ll love that child ! 
she reminds me of sister Emma, with her great 
blue eyes and sweet face. Then baby Bess is as 
cunning as can be. You ’ll not be lonesome, — you 
can ’t be, as I see.” 

It must be confessed, however, that James Beards- 
ley felt some misgivings ; for he knew his wife ’s 
natural distaste for added burciens, and he remem- 
bered their conversation on the arrival of his 
father ’s letter. Then as he thought, in spite of 
himself, of Reginald’s boisterous, ungracious man- 
ners, he experienced a certain sadness of heart. His 
father had grown so childlike, so trusting, so unsus- 
picious, so affectionate, that he felt sure the first 
unpleasant word would cause him great grief. 

“ But, Jimmie,” replied the old deacon, don ’t 
you think the housekeeper can manage me nicely ? 
Eben — that’s Jet’s boy — does the chores; he’s 
been staying here with his grandmother ever since 
Jennie was sick. I haven’t long to stay, and 
seems as if I could n’t leave the old home. Why, 
when it ’s still in the evening, and the crickets 


22 Making Home Peaceful 

chirp in the grass, and I catch the sweet scent of 
the hay in the east meajdow, I declare, Jimmie, I 
can see you all, — mother, and Paul, and Emma, 
and the twins. I suppose I hi have to go, though 
seems to me I could get along a while yet with 
Mrs. Burns and Eben.” 

‘‘ But of course you can ’t stay here any longer, 
father ; I could n’t leave you to the tender mercies 
of a housekeeper, though Mrs. Burns is probably 
well enough. I must step into the kitchen and see 
her, and ask about Tot and Jet and all the rest. 
I ’ve been so driven with business, and so neglected 
Jennie’s letters, that I suppose the poor girl grew 
discouraged ; for she did n’t write me much about 
the old neighbors, along at the last. I see my own 
neglect now, and I ’m so sorry I did n’t answer her 
last, long, loving letter, — poor Jennie ! ” 

Reader, is this the experience of any of us ? Did 
we ever neglect to answer the last letter till the 
hand that penned it was still and cold, and the 
clods of the valley fell with their mournful echo 
over the dear one whom we so loved and so 
neglected ? 

“ Good evening, Mrs. Burns ! ” exclaimed the 
visitor, stepping into the kitchen, and extending 



23 




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A Night in the Old Home at Jo7tesville 25 

his hand to the motherly-looking little woman 
who stood washing dishes at the table. We would 
have recognized Mrs. Burns at once. She was a 
trifle grayer, a little stouter, — that was all. The 
good-natured, peaceful face seemed still young 
and fresh ; for Mrs. Burns was not, and had never 
been, a woman who allowed the cares and bur- 
dens of this life to gall and woriy^ her. A Chris- 
tian she was, and had been for many years ; and 
this was the secret of the bright, cheery smile that 
always seemed at home on her face. Hearing the 
strange voice at her side, she turned suddenly. 

‘‘ What ! don’t tell me this is Jimmie Beardsley ! ” 
she exclaimed, wiping her hands hastily, and giv- 
ing her visitor a cordial salutation. ‘‘ Vv^hy, 1 
never thought of you as anything but a boy. It ’s 
been years and years since you left Jonesville, 
hasn’t it? My ! how Tot would like to see you.” 

“ Where is Tot now, Mrs. Burns ? I ’d like to 
meet her, and talk over old times. Let ’s see, — ■ 
she was a little younger than Jennie and I were.” 

‘‘ She ’s living over in Edenville. Three chil- 
dren, now. Tot’s got,” chattered the motherly 
little woman. “ She and her husband are the 
main pillars of the church over there. Thank 


26 Making Home Peaceful 

the Lord, they he Christians. I hope, Jimmie, 
your feet are placed firm on the Rock of Ages, 
though I don’t s’pose I need to ask, hardly — any 
one with such a father.” 

I am quite free to confess, Mrs. Burns ” inter- 
rupted Jimmie, for the conversation was grow- 
ing a little too personal for an uneasy conscience, 
‘‘ that I have not at all lived up to my privileges ; 
but I am sure the Lord has not forsaken me. 
Where is Jet, may I ask?” 

‘‘ The dear boy died three years ago ; but he 
died a Christian, and that means a good deal. 
I remember his last words — ‘ Peace like a river.’ 
O, I tell you, Jimmie, — I ’ll have to call you 
Jimmie yet, I guess, — nobody but a Christian 
can have real peace in life or ' satisfying peace in 
death.” 

“ I remember now, Jennie wrote me about it. 
I suppose you have his boy with you ? ” 

“Yes, he lives with me. Eben’s a pretty good 
boy ; looks a good deal as Tot used to. But you 
haven’t told me anything about your family.” 

Mrs. Burns was not satisfied until she had re- 
ceived a minute description of each member of 
James Beardsley’s family ; and finally, when he 


A Night in the Old Home at Jonesville 27 

excused himself, and returned to the sitting-room 
with his father, the motherly voice of Mrs. Burns 
rang after him : “I’m dreadful glad to hear about 
your folks, Jimmie. I hope they ’re all travelin’ 
the way of peace.” 

That night James Beardsley slept in the little 
old room, hallowed by many tender memories, — 
the room which was once his brother Paul’s, and 
which, later, came to be his own. As his weary 
head sought its pillow, and memory became busy 
with scenes of the past, it was the strong, kindly 
voice of the old housekeeper, which was the last 
sound he heard save the monotonous chirping of 
the crickets and the loud ticking of the clock in 
the hall : — 

“ When peace like a river attendeth my way, 

When sorrows, like sea-billows, roll ; 

Whatever my lot. Thou hast taught me to say, 

‘ It is well, it is well, with my soul.’ ” 


CHAPTER III 


A PEEP INTO THE BEARDSLEY HOM^ 

D ET us take a peep into the home of James 
Beardsley, in the little city of Harrisburg, 
after his departure for Jonesville, and listen for a 
few minutes to the conversation of its inmates. 
We will take a seat in the corner of the dining- 
room, for the family are at the breakfast-table. 
The dining-room is large and pleasant, and opens 
into the cozy sitting-room from one side, and into 
the parlor and library from another. James Beards- 
ley had been a merchant for a number of years, 
and his business was steadily growing ; for he 
was strictly honest, temperate, and friendly with 
every one. 

It is evident, this morning, that something of 
unusual interest is about to happen. Mrs. Beards- 
ley sits at the head of the table, pouring the 
coffee. Upon either cheek there is a bright spot, 
which tells of unwonted excitement. Grand- 


28 


A Peep mto the Beardsley Home 


29 


mother Sharpe, Mrs. Beardsley’s mother, sits at 
her right, Reginald is at the foot of the table, 
while four-year old Flossie, everybody’s darling, 

— golden-haired Flossie, a cripple from her birth, 

— sits very near her mother at the left. Baby 
Bessie is asleep in her crib, much to Mrs. Beards- 
ley’s relief ; for the little one has been restless and 
uneasy all night. 

‘‘ Well, I suppose this day marks the end of my 
freedom,” said Mrs. Beardsley, with a sigh that was 
intended to impress her hearers as very pathetic. 

Now, see here, Ellen ; I hope you ain’t goin’ 
to be run right over the first thing!” exclaimed 
Grandmother Sharpe, with an ominous snapping of 
her black eyes. “But / needn’t say nothin’; I 
expect my opinions won’t amount to nothin,’ after 
this,” she continued, in a grieved manner. 

“ Well, you know how it goes,” complained Mrs. 
Beardsley ; “I said all I dared against his bringing 
his father here, in the first place, but you know 
just how set Jimmie is. I wouldn’t mind it so 
much, but the old man’s nearly blind, and that 
means no end of bother.” 

“I say, mother,” called Reginald, in a high voice, 
“ have I got to give up my new room to Grand- 


30 


Making Home Peaceful 


father Beardsley? I needn’t, need I? won’t the 
little room over the kitchen, where I used to sleep, 
be good enough for him ? He can’t see anything, 
anyway ; and if I ’ve got to help father down at the 
store after school, I ’m going to have a good room. 
I ought to have that much.” 

‘‘ I said all I could, my dear, to your father,” said 
Mrs. Beardsley, blandly (Reginald, her first-born, 
was clearly the idol of her heart), ‘‘ but you know 
how it is. Never mind, dear; if pa’s willing, 
we ’ll let you have our room, and we ’ll take the 
smaller bedroom in the wing.” 

‘‘ I don’t want your room ! I want the front one. 
I ’m going to have a good room, and that settles it ! ” 
at which his mother said no more. 

“ Well, ma,” continued Reginald, as he helped 
himself to another cake, ‘‘ do you want me to help 
you fix the old man’s room up ? I can, if you say 
so, before I go down to the store,” he continued, in a 
condescending manner. Reginald was always more 
unruly and disagreeable when his father was away. 

‘‘Is papa coming home to-day, gram’ma?” 
queried little Flossie, who had been listening 
intently to the conversation, with a troubled look 
on her sweet, pale face. 


A Peep into the Beardsley Home 31 

“Yes, Flossie, to-day,’’ answered Grandmother 
Sharpe, with an unconscious modulation of her 
shrill tones. Everybody spoke softly to little 
Flossie ; even Reginald forgot his usual imperious 
style when he spoke to his 'crippled sister. Some- 
thing was wrong with her spine, and Flossie had 
never walked. 

It hardly seemed that these two could be brother 
and sister, so utterly unlike were they in both 
disposition and feature : Reginald, with his keen 
black eyes and raven hair ; Flossie, with eyes 
as blue as the May * skies, and ringlets like 
spun gold : Reginald, proud, imperious, selfish, 
overbearing, impulsive ; Flossie, gentle, loving, 
tender-hearted, patient : the latter, old and wom- 
anly beyond her years ; the former, vain, reck” 
less, and fond of putting on the airs of a young 
man. 

When breakfast was over, Mrs. Beardsley and 
Reginald repaired to the chamber, to make the final 
decision as to which room was to be “ sacrificed ” to 
Grandfather Beardsley. 

“ I tell you, mother,” said Reginald, decidedly, 
“ this little bedroom over the kitchen ’s just the 
.thing. Of course there ’s not much of a view from 


32 


Making Home Peaceful 


the window, but he ’s ’most blind, — he couldn’t see 
it if the view was ever so grand.” 

“ I know. Regie ; but I ’m awfully afraid your 
father will object to that. You see there’s only 
one window, and that can’t be raised easily.” 



‘‘Yes, I know ; but old folks are always cold, and 
he ’ll not want his window open. Besides, I ’m 
bound to have that front room myself.” 

“ Well, if your pa objects too strongly, you can 


A Peep mto the Beardsley Home 33 


have our bedroom, and we ’ll take the one in the 
wing, — though I did want that for company.” 

“ I told you once I did n’t want your room ! ” 



Flossie 


snapped the selfish lad. ‘‘ It’s queer a fellow ’s 
got to fight for every privilege he has ! I ’m 
getting old enough to have my own way part of 
3 


34 Making Home Peaceful 

the time, and I hope people will begin to under- 
stand it pretty soon. I want the room I Ve got, 
and I ’m going to keep it. Can I have that 
dresser for my room? this little place will be 
crowded with it — and that rug, too ? ” 

Mrs. Beardsley did not even make an effort to 
reprove her son, or to correct his domineering and 
disrespectful conduct. She seemed entirely un- 
moved by these words, which, had they been 
spoken by another, would have exasperated her 
beyond control. 

How the selfish boy could persuade his mother 
that the rug, because it happened to be bright and 
pretty, could possibly take up more room than a 
plainer one, I can not imagine ; but certain it is 
that his arguments prevailed, and, as a result, it 
was a very plain and poorly furnished little room 
that was at last pronounced ready to receive 
Grandfather Beardsley. 

Perhaps you may be somewhat ^ surprised to 
learn that our friend, James Beardsley-, his wife 
Ellen, and her mother. Grandma Sharpe, were 
all members of the church, and that they had 
been for many years. To join the church had 
seemed to them the correct thing to do, from more 


A Peep into the Beardsley Home 35 

than one point of view. In the first place, all the 
better class of people in Harrisburg were church- 
members and church-goers ; the Willoughby’s 
and the Green’s belonged to- the church, and 
they were the wealthiest people in the city. To 
be sure Mr. Green was not a strictly temperate 
man, but then, — he was considered eminently 
respectable. And certainly if the better classes 
were church members, it would hardly do to be 
outside the fold, they reasoned. They wanted to 
live good, moral lives, of course ; they would like 
to attend church, and felt perfectly willing to throw 
a few coppers into the contribution-box every Sab- 
bath, to help lift a little on the church debt. So 
there seemed to be but one thing to do — to join 
the church. But clearly James Beardsley and his 
wife were growing more and more worldly every 
year. Sometimes, it must be confessed, he would 
find himself comparing his own home life with 
that of his godly father’s, in the years long gone 
by. He did not mean to be a hypocrite, but he 
was startled now and then when the blessed Spirit 
gave him a clearer view of his own heart. Some- 
times, too, of late, he trembled for his son. He 
dimly remembered the time when his dear brother 


36 


Making Home Peaceful 


Paul had been led to the very brink of ruin by bad 
companions. Harrisburg was no exception to 
other places. Temptation lurked on every cor- 
ner. Some of the- very boys whom he had once 
thought fit playfellows for Reginald, he had him- 
self seen smoking cigars, and he had heard his 
own boy occasionally use language which cer- 
tainly could not be denominated as choice. All 
this had troubled him much. 


CHAPTER IV 


grandpa’s new home 

m AMES BEARDSEEY had spoken to his wife 
about this ; but she had only remarked that of 
course “boys would be boys,” and had objected 
decidedly to Reginald’s being “ preached at.” So 
he had thought best to say no more about the 
matter, fondly hoping that time or age and expe- 
rience would lead the lad to correct his bad habits. 
Vain hope ! As the days flew by, he appeared to 
develop a growing taste for the society of the worst 
element in Harrisburg. Not only so, but com- 
plaints kept coming to his parents about his con- 
duct in school. More than once of late they had 
received notes from his teachers to the effect that 
he was causing them much trouble. To these, 
Mr. Beardsley had replied in person, asking that 
patience and forbearance be exercised with his son, 
for the sake of the mother. And so a kind of 
peace — though really more toleration than peace 


37 


38 


Making Home Peaceful 


— was maintained. But Reginald could scarcely 
endure even his mother’s occasional feeble remon- 
strance. 

Yet James Beardsley and his wife, especially the 
latter, thought, — as thousands of others who adopt 
the same policy in the management of their chil- 
dren think, — that they were doing right, that their 
way was the best. O, had they only hidden them- 
selves behind Christ, and let him lead them ! had 
they listened to his voice when he spoke to them ! 
But they were too wise in their own eyes to be 
taught by the great Teacher, who never made a 
mistake, nor appointed one task that did not need 
to be done, nor assigned one lesson that did not 
need to be learned. O, had they hidden behind 
Christ, as the engineer hides behind his headlight 

— himself in the shadow — then would the great, 
strong light have shone upon the track ahead, 
revealing all the obstacles in the way, and beaming 
ever brighter as they approached them. 

Like Mr. and Mrs. Beardsley, how often we place 
ourselves before our great Headlight ; and then 
what follows ? — Why, we are bodies of darkness ; 
we throw our own shadows on the track, and it is 
so dark that we can not see to guide our train. 


Grandpa's New Home 


39 


Then when we make terrible mistakes, — mistakes 
in the guidance of the precious souls given into our 
keeping, — we make such ado, and moan and cry 
out against Providence with so loud a voice, that 
we fail to hear the still, sweet tones of our Pilot, 
who longs for us to listen to his teaching. And so, 
year after year, our train, with its precious freight, 
rushes on and on into the midnight blackness of 
our own shadows, until at last death comes, and 
takes it into his charge and our loved ones into his 
keeping, and we see them hurled over the precipice 
into eternal ruin. We know then that it is too 
late. We might have kept them back from de- 
struction, but we saw not the danger. Our own 
baleful shadows eclipsed the brightness of the shin- 
ing light, and w^e could not see the ruin ahead. ' 
We were like Eli, whose example stands like a 
lighthouse on the shores of time, warning us to 
shun the rocks upon which were stranded hopes as 
fair as ours. 

We, — there are two classes of us, — have been 
taking two different paths. One is the path of 
cold, hard formalism, devoid of all appearance 
of affection, — the path where bloom no sweet 
flowers; where the harsh word and the tones of 


40 


Making Home Peaceful 


unkindness are often heard, and the rod of cor- 
rection is used without love. Such a path was 
that chosen by Janies Beardsley’s father, Deacon 
Beardsley, in those early days before the voice of 
God spoke to him, and softened and made tender 
his hard heart. The other path is gay with flow- 
ers, but they are poisonous ; the songs of revelry 
and mirth sound loud ; the tones of faithful re- 
proof are never heard, and the voice of prayer is 
silent. Frightful chasms are on all sides destruc- 
tion is before, and desolation and lamentation 
are behind ; but the hand that is upon the throttle 
of the engine is palsied ; the ear is deaf, the eye 
blind, the Headlight obscured. 

‘‘ Down brakes ! ” shouts the watchman. But 
the cry is all unheeded until it is too late, — the 
fatal leap is taken. 

But there is another road. Mothers, shall I tell 
you about it ? Fathers, will you invite the Holy 
Spirit to point it out to you ? Teachers, do you 
want to take this better road, with your precious 
freight of human souls ? It is a narrow path, but 
flowers of love and kindness grow along its track. 
Nothing but the voice of gentleness and the tones 
of kindness is heard ; love reigns supreme. Dan- 



41 








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Grandpa's New Home 


43 


gers there are, — there is no path that is free from 
them, — but the hand that guides the engine is 
firm, the eye is open, the ears are not stopped, 
the mighty Headlight shines clear and bright, and 
we can hear the voice of the great Leader saying, 
“ This is the way, walk ye in it.” 

At last, just as the clock was striking twelve, 
the rumble of wheels was heard on the gravel 
walk, and Grandmother Sharpe, glancing from the 
window, announced, hastily : — 

‘■James is cornin’, Ellen; the old man’s got his 
trunk. Dear me ! he acts like he might be stone 
blind. Wall, I declare for ’t ! ” 

“ Well, Jimmie, yon ’ve come at last ! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Beardsley, a look of relief coming into her 
face. “ I ’ve worried about you ; we rather ex- 
pected you yesterday. This is Father Beardsley, 
I suppose,” she rattled on without waiting to hear 
the gentle-voiced old man’s reply. 

“Yes, Ellen, and he ’s very tired. You ’d better 
give him a cup of something hot, and let him lie 
down till dinner ’s ready.” 

“There,” thought Mrs. Beardsley, “ I ’ve got to 
begin waiting on him already ; ” and as she handed 
the meek-faced old man a cup of hot drink, she 


44 Making Home Peaceful 

ungraciously remarked that she was ‘‘ tired enough 
to drop.” 

‘‘Wall, James, I declare for’t!” put in Grand- 
mother Sharpe ; “ Ellen ain’t done a thing but 
worry ever since you went away.” 

“ That ’s too bad, I ’m sure, grandmother,” said 
Mr. Beardsley, pleasantly. 

“ I told her you ’d likely got delayed, and not to 
worry ; but my words don’t seem to amount to 
nothin’, any more,” continued the old woman. 

Jealousy grew and thrived as naturally in ihe 
soil of Grandmother Sharpe’s heart as weeds in a 
garden. Her one complaint was that no one cared 
for her opinions or heeded her advice. That gentle 
manner, that utter forgetfulness of self, which is 
the sweet product and growth of years of meek- 
ness and Christian unselfishness, was a stranger to 
her. And it needs the abiding grace of Christ in 
large measure patiently to endure the continual 
goading and pricking and rasping caused by con- 
tact with such natures as these. And of this — 
the sustaining grace of Christ — never was there a 
more needy household. 

“ Where ’s Reginald ? ” inquired Mr. Beardsley, 
“ and Flossie, and the baby ? ” 


Grandpa) s New Home 


45 


‘‘ Regie ’s gone fishing with the boys ; there 
wasn’t any school this afternoon. I didn’t want 
him to go, — I knew he was needed at the store, — 
but he would go. Baby’s asleep, and I presume 
Flossie’s dozing in her wheel-chair.” 

‘‘ Here ’s Flossie, mama; has my papa come?” 
chirps a soft voice from the sitting-room, — sweet 
music to the lonely old man, on whose sensitive 
heart the sharp tones and ungracious words of his 
daughter-in-law and her mother had fallen like 
lead. 

‘‘ Come and get Flossie ! ” and in a moment two 
strong arms were around the tiny form, and Flossie 
was clasped close to her father’s loving heart, in 
which his gentle, helpless little daughter occupied 
a large place. 

‘‘ This is Grandpa Beardsley, Flossie ; kiss him, 
dear,” said her father, still holding her tenderly. 

Deacon Beardsley reached out his arms, and 
took the child upon his knee ; and while the golden 
curls lay against his cheek, he whispered, in a 
husky voice : ‘‘ Grandpa can’t see you very plain, 
my darling, but he can hear your sweet voice, and 
feel your soft little hands ; and when he ’s not so 
tired, grandpa’ll tell you lots of nice stories.” 


46 


Making Home Peaceful 


Now Flossie’s one desire was to hear about 
angels. It mattered little of what the story 
treated ; if only “ angels ” bore a prominent part, 
she was altogether satisfied. So she at once put in 
her plea : — 

“ ’Bout the angels? Will you tell Flossie ’bout 
the pretty angels?” Then remembering that 
grandpa had said he could n’t see her very plainly, 
she added, sympathetically : — 

“Can’t you see, grandpa? yon’s got eyes!” 
laying a tiny finger over the old man’s eyelids. 
The child was perfectly at home on the deacon’s 
knee. “ Can’t you see? Flossie ’s so sorry.” 

“Not much, little _ one, not much; but I ’ll see 
sometime, and then Flossie can walk.” 

“ Dear me 1 ” fretted Mrs. Beardsley, appearing 
in the door to announce dinner ; “ that child is 
always dreaming, and now she ’ll be worse than 
ever. Here, James, do manage your father ; I 
don’t know how. Lead him over to this side of 
the table.” 

“ Where ’s Janet, Ellen ? ” 

“ O, she had a headache, and went home this 
morning, and left me with everything on my 
hands. I sent Reginald with the wash over 



47 








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Grandpa's New Home 


49 


to Mrs. Mallery’s, — I couldn’t bear to have 
the muss in the house to-day. Baby kept me 
awake almost all night, — I’m worried about 
that child, Jimmie, — she doesn’t seem at all 
well.” 

O, I guess she ’ll come out all right, Ellen ; I 
wouldn’t worry.” 

^‘No, you wouldn’t worry; you never worry, 
especially when ’t would be a relief to me if you 
only would.” 

“ I wanted her to give the baby some castor-oil 
and put a poultice on her stomach, but she would n’t 
hear to me. If the baby ’s sick and dies, I can’t 
be blamed. Nobody cares for my advice no 
more,” remarked Grandmother Sharpe, watching 
grandpa, to see how he took that item of news. 
But Deacon Beardsley ate his dinner in silence, 
wondering if things had always been like this at 
Jimmie’s. 

“ Come, Ellen,” said Mr. Beardsley, after the 
deacon had retired to the sitting-room with Flossie ; 
‘‘ I suppose father ’d like to go to his room. Which 
one have you fixed up for him ? ” 

‘‘O, one up-stairs,” answered Mrs. Beardsley, 
evasively, assuming a careless manner, though she 
4 


50 


Making Home Peaceful 


had been inwardly dreading to hear her husband 
ask this question. 

Which room ? ” 

The one where Regie used to sleep.” 

‘‘You don’t mean that little den over the 
kitchen ! ” exclaimed Mr. Beardsley. 

“Yes, I do ! ” snapped his wife, defiantly ; “ it ’s 
good enough, too ! But she winced under the 
indignation in her husband’s eyes. 

“ I supposed you were going to prepare the front 
chamber for him, Ellen,” remonstrated Mr. Beards- 
ley, making a perceptible effort to control his rising 
temper, and keep back the hasty words which 
sprang to his lips. “ I will 'See the room before he 
goes up, Ellen ; ” and he hastened from the dining- 
room, slowly followed by his wife.' 

“You don’t mean to put my father into this 
room ! it can’t be possible ! It ’s the closest, din- 
giest, stuffiest, unpleasantest room in the whole 
house. I didn’t'think it of you, Ellen,” and James 
Beardsley’s voice was full of reproach and scorn. 

Mrs. Beardsley could better endure her husband’s 
anger than his scorn, and she replied, hotly : 
“Well, I hope you’ve exhausted your list of ad- 
jectives. I ’d like to know what better I can do ! 


Grandpa's New Home 5^ 

I ought to have the wing room for company, — you 
know that, — and Regie shall not give up his for 
anybody. Poor boy ! he has few enough pleasures 
and comforts.” 

‘‘Few enough that he doesn’t have,” thought 
Mr. Beardsley ; but he only said, sternly, glancing 
out of the window : “I see it ’s half past two by 
the town clock. By three o’clock I shall expect 
you to have made what changes are necessary in 
this front room. I ’ll send Mrs. Mallery over to 
help you. There goes Bill Wells, — I ’ll ask him 
to help me set father’s trunk up here in his room.” 

Mrs. Beardsley knew that further remonstrance 
was useless, so she took refuge in tears, and went 
slowly down stairs. She knew this meant giving 
up their room to Reginald, and depriving her of the 
cherished “spare room,” which only increased her 
feeling of ill will toward the innocent old man who 
was the cause of all her trouble. 

It was nearly three o’clock ; Mrs. Beardsley and 
Mrs. Mallery were still busy preparing the front 
chamber, and making the changes that Mr. Beards- 
ley had determined should be made. Mrs. Beardsley 
was doing the work most ungraciously, and under 
continual mental protest. She was just wondering 


52 


Making Home Peaceful 


what Reginald would say, when she heard his step 
in the front hall. The next moment his voice rang 
out, sharp and clear : ‘‘ Mother ! hurry up and get 
me some dinner ; I want one of these fish cooked 
— I Ve got some beauties! Come; I’m ’most 
starved. Has father come ? ” Then she heard 
him ascending the stairs, two steps at a time. 
“ Hello 1 what ’s this ? I thought I was to have 
this room.” 

“ Well, dear, your father did n’t like it, so I had 
to make the change. You can’t feel worse about it 
than I do. But you shall have our room. I ’ll fix 
it up nice for you, and we ’ll take the smaller one.” 

fellow ’ll have to stand it, I s’pose, though I 
don’t like to give up for other folks,” he scowled, 
as he came bounding down the stairs, entirely un- 
mindful of the sacrifice his parents were making 
for him. 

Flossie sat curled up in grandpa’s arms ; and the 
deacon was in the middle of a story that used 
always to awaken the admiration of the twins,” 
years and years ago. 

‘‘Why, little Flossie,” he was saying, while the 
tiny form cuddled up to him closer still, “ it 
does n’t seem a bit more than last week since I used 


Grandpa' s New Home 


53 


to tell your own papa and Aunt Jennie that story ; ’’ 
and the dim old eyes grew dimmer still, as he 
brushed a tear away. ‘‘ I did n’t always do right 
by the little ones ; but that ’s all past now, and 
whereas J was blind, now I see,” said the old man, 
thoughtfully. He never ceased to find places 
where his favorite text would fit in appropriately. 

“Was Aunt Jennie your little girl? Tell me 
about her, grandpa, please. Why, here ’s Regie ! ” 

“ Hello, Floss ; hello, grand’ther ! I suppose 
you ’ve come to stay at our house, have you ? I 
hope ‘you aren’t deaf,” — raising his voice to a 
higher pitch, — “ I hope you are n’t deaf as well as 
blind. I hate to talk to deaf people, — strains my 
throat.” 

The poor old man, thus rudely awakened from 
his sweet dream of the past, made some answer, as 
best he might, to the thoughtless boy, while Flossie 
slid down from his knee, and crept painfully into 
her wheel-chair ; for grandpa looked so white and 
pale she thought he must be tired. 

And so this was life at Jimmie’s ! O, how he 
longed for a quiet corner in his old home again ! 

“ Poor grandpa ! ” she said, softly ; “ do your 
eyes ache, grandpa?” 


54 Making Home Peaceful 

No, no, little girl, not my eyes. Why do you 
ask, Flossie? ” 

‘‘ ’ Cause you can’t see, — poor grandpa ! ” 

Everybody said that little Flossie Beardsley was 
a strange child. Perhaps it was on account of her 
deformity, which of course made it out of the 
question for her to play the ordinary games of 
childhood with the children of the neighborhood ; 
or perhaps it was because of the ministry of pain, 
with its purifying, softening influence^ which had 
the effect of developing and ripening the spirit of 
the child, until she seemed almost a woman in her 
gentle thoughtfulness for the needs of others. 

Born to a life of sorrow and suffering, to days 
of weakness and nights of weariness, the frail 
flower seemed only to give out the more perfume. 
Patiently enduring the pain incident to her helpless 
condition, — or, where it was too much for the 
brave little spirit, weeping silently, — the child was 
an example indeed. Grandfather Beardsley at once 
became a new object around which her heart-strings 
readily entwined. She thought it so dreadful 
because it was always dark to poor grandpa ; and 
on account of her sympathy for him, she soon 
formed the habit of closing her eyes, — ‘‘ playing 


Grandpa) s Nezv Home 


55 


blind,” as she called it, so she could understand 
how it seemed to grandpa. 

The child had a great notion of playing by her- 
self. She had large boxes filled to the brim with 
bright-colored pieces that had been given her ; and 
she would sit in her chair hour after hour, and 
handle them all over, lovingly patting, with the 
frail, white little fingers, each particular piece, and 
pinning the choicest of them in turn on her dolls, 
where, in her imagination, they immediately under- 
went a miraculous change, and became at once 
transformed into fine new suits. 

But of all things in the world, the sight of a 
beautiful sunset, gorgeous with its tints of purple 
and gold and scarlet, was most enjoyed by the 
crippled child. One evening when nature seemed 
trying to outvie itself in producing a magnificent 
panorama in the heavens, she sat in her little chair, 
regarding the scene with childish delight. Clasp- 
ing her tiny hands in ecstasy, she exclaimed: 
‘‘ Do see, grandpa ! I can look away over into 
God’s country. We ’ll not be sick any more in 
God’s country ; we ’ll not feel bad any more there, 
and we can see the angels every day ! ” 

Though Flossie was kind and loving toward all 


56 


Making Home Peaceful 


the children of the neighborhood, who sometimes 
came to the house to play with her, still, because 
they were rather boisterous and rough in their 
games, the frail, sensitive child generally preferred 
playing quite alone, or with her baby sister, Bessie ; 
though Bessie could hardly be expected to enter 
very heartily into her quaint plays. However, 
there was one playfellow whom Flossie always 


welcomed. Even when she 
in real pain, the gentle 
>ence of little Tim Mallery 
ned to have a quieting, 
:hing effect upon her. Tim 
the eight-year-old son 
ui Mrs. Beardsley’s washer- 
woman. He was a quaint 



Little Tim 


little fellow, whose freckled face, clean and shin- 
ing as soap and water could make it, was always 
beaming with a good-natured smile. His clothes 
were patched until it was difficult to tell the 
original color, but they were scrupulously clean. 

It never occurred to Mrs. Beardsley that it was 
her duty to make any effort whatever to better little 
Tim’s condition, or in any way to help her poor 
neighbor out of the rut into which years of toil 


Grandpa* s ISPezv Home 


57 


and grinding poverty had thrown her. Indeed, 
Ellen Beardsley was only annoyed at the growing 
friendship between the children. 

Kind and overindulgent to her own children, 
her kindness did not extend over her own thresh- 
old. For the children of her neighbors she had 
neither gentleness nor charity, — especially for those 
of her poorer neighbors. A professed Christian, 
indeed ; but she had no time for the exercise 
of those Christian graces, the sweet fruits of the 
Spirit, without which the soul grows colder and 
the heart harder day by day. 

But because Tim had nothing to do at home, 
nor any toys to amuse himself with there, he often 
braved Mrs. Beardsley’s frowns and sharp words 
for the pleasure of playing for half an hour with 
his little favorite. 

One morning after an unusually unkind greeting 
from Mrs. Beardsley, who had told him that she 
did not ‘‘ want to be bothered ” with him, and 
that it was “time Flossie had her nap,” she over- 
heard a snatch of conversation between the little 
daughter and her early visitor, which should have 
been a lesson to her, but which only served to 
irritate her the more. 


58 


Making Home Peaceful 


Say, Floss,” began Tim, in the singularly soft 
voice with which he always spoke to his gentle 
playmate, ‘‘your ma ’s just like our Spotty.” 

“Who is Spotty?” questioned Flossie. 

“ Why, she ’s the ma to them cunnin’ little 
chickens I brought over here to show you a few 
weeks ago ; ’cause you see, if there ’s any other 
chickens comes ’round. Spotty just pecks ’em.” 

“ She does n’t hurt ’em, does she ? ” protested 
Flossie. 

“ I s’pose she does ; anyway, it hurts me, awful, 
when she ’s cross to me, an’ looks at me so with 
them black eyes — your ma, I mean. I would n’t 
das’t come over here at all, Flossie, only I like to 
play with you so ! ” 

“ Never mind, Timmie,” exclaimed Flossie, 
alarmed at the thought of such a possible calam- 
ity ; “ mama did n’t mean to hurt you. Come, let ’s 
play school.” 

If you were to ask Mrs. Beardsley whom she 
loved — absolutely and entirely loved — and for 
whom alone she would uncomplainingly sacrifice 
her own comfort, who and who only occupied her 
thoughts by day and her dreams by night, she 
would answer, if she told you what she believed to 


Grandpa's New Home 


59 


be the exact truth, “ My children — Reginald first, 
then Flossie and little Bessie.’’ And she made 
every other love, every other condition of her life 
and the lives of the other members of her house- 
hold, secondary to this. She loved her husband, or 
at least it is to be so supposed, though she rarely 
manifested any tenderness toward him ; and if his 
interests and Reginald’s ever conflicted, it was the 
self-willed lad who always received the favors and 
concessions. 

These little differences between Mr. and Mrs. 
Beardsley became more and more frequent after the 
arrival of the deacon, who was from the first a 
continual bone of contention between them. Regi- 
nald shared his mother’s spirit of rebellion at the 
coming of the old deacon into their* home, and 
James Beardsley began to feel more keenly than 
ever in his life, his own sad lack of the wisdom 
that comes from above. He soon ceased to offer 
anything but the feeblest remonstrance to Regi- 
nald’s disrespectful and unmanly treatment of his 
grandfather, and to his growing dislike of restraint. 
The lad knew that he had a never-failing friend 
and ally in his mother ; it mattered not how much 
he needed the firm hand of restraint and the earnest 


6o 


Making Home Peaceful 


voice of remonstrance, Ellen Beardsley never failed 
to enter a prompt protest, without waiting to be 
alone with her husband, if the remonstrance was 
forthcoming. Yet, strange as it might appear, the 
lad whom she so favored did not regard her wishes 
any more than those of any one else, if they con- 
flicted in the least with his own. 

And the misguided woman called this feeling for 
her children, — this feeling of resentment at any 
protest uttered on account of their waywardness, — 
‘‘love.” But did she love them wisely? Was she 
not yielding up to her children that place which 
belongs only to God ? Was she not placing in the 
sanctuary of her heart an earthly idol, where Christ 
alone should bear rightful sway ? It is always so 
whenever we attempt to substitute the false for the 
true, — whenever we concede to “the gift” that 
love which alone belongs to the Giver, whenever 
we place a poor, weak, erring mortal upon the 
highest throne of our affections, and give to him 
the first place, which belongs only to the Creator. 
Even baby Bessie was learning to manifest a dis- 
tressing degree of temper if her wishes were not at 
once granted. But Mrs. Beardsley was blind and 
deaf to all these things. 



Trot, Trot, Trot, Back and Forth, Fly the Little Feet 

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Grandpa's N^w Home 


63 


‘‘Isn’t baby cunning ! ” she exclaimed, one day 
at the dinner-table, when the tiny queen asserted 
her “rights” in louder tones than usual, — she was 
crying for a pretty glass mug in this particular 
instance. “Isn’t she cunning, James? Do see 
her little eyes flash ! Never mind, James, /’// hand 
it to her ; don’t you know she won’t let any one 
hand her a drink but me ? I believe that child ’s 
growing to look more like me every day she lives. 
She does n’t intend to be stepped on, do you, 
darling?” and the indulgent mother quickly 
handed the child the desired object. Instantly 
the cries ceased ; but the mug had been too long 
delayed. The child was angry, and would not 
easily be pacifled. There was a quick movement 
of the little arm, a crash, and Flossie’s mug, a 
cherished gift from grandpa, lay in fragments on 
the smooth, hard floor of the dining-room. Deacon 
Beardsley quietly repeated a verse of Scripture, as 
it was his habit to do : “ ‘ Even a child is known 
by his doings, whether his work be pure, and 
whether it be right’ ” 


CHAPTER V 


PRIEST AND PRIESTESS 


onstration ; but the hot tears rained down upon 
the white cheeks, and the pale lips quivered pit- 
ifully. 

‘‘ Why, Bessie ! ” exclaimed Mr. Beardsley. 

‘‘Now don’t scold the child, James. She’s not 
old enough to reason with, much less to punish, 
and I hope you ’ll remember it. Don’t look at her 
so ; there ! I knew you ’d have her crying. Come 
here, darling,” reaching her arms for the angry 
infant, “ papa sha’n’t scold mama’s baby ! naughty 
papa ! ” 

“ I told you the child would break the dish, 
Ellen, if you gave it to her,” said Mr. Beardsley, 
reproachfully. 

“ Yes, of course you told me ! ” snapped Mrs. 
Beardsley. “You are all the time croaking. You 
64 


m 


F course Flossie began to cry, quietly. It 
was not her nature ever to make a noisv dem- 



Priest and Priestess 


65 


always refuse the children everything. Come 
quickly, and gather up the pieces, Janet. Don’t 
cry, Flossie ; mother ’ll get you another mug, pret- 
tier than this one.” 

“Yes, but grandpa got me this, poor blind 
grandpa, and he can’t see to get me another,” 
moaned Flossie. 

“ O, yes, I can, dear,” said the deacon, consol- 
ingly, glad of an opportunity to pour oil upon the 
troubled waters. “Yes, I can, dear. ‘ Whereas I 
was blind, now I see.’ ” 

Grandmother Sharpe had been listening jealously 
to the last part of this conversation. Deacon 
Beardsley had been a member of his son’s house- 
hold only a few hours before she had decided that 
he would be a dangerous rival in Flossie’s affec- 
tions ; and as the months rolled by, she never lost 
an opportunity of letting every one. know that she 
considered him as such. 

“ It ’s dretful quare ! ” she exclaimed, pettishly ; 
“the children never seem to think anything of 
what / give ’em. My presents ain’t sot no store 
by ; nobody cares for me no more in this house !” 

“Now you ’ve begun your usual tune ! ” ex- 
claimed Reginald, turning with a sneer toward his 


5 


66 


Making Home Peaceful 


grandmother. ‘‘ But I don’t see what grand’ther 
means by saying that whereas he was blind, now 
he sees, when he’s blind as a bat, and growing 
blinder every day, — Scripture, I would n’t wonder, 
— not much use playing the pious dodge here,” 
and the heartless boy, unrebuked except by a 
stern glance from his father, left the room, while 
Deacon Beardsley thought : “ O what a change 

might be wrought in my poor son’s unhappy 
household if cold formality might only give place 
to the blessed religion of Jesus Christ ; and if the 
sweet charity that thinketh no evil, that suffereth 
long, and is kind, that vaunteth not itself, would 
but take the place of the love of self. Would to 
God that whereas they are blind, they might be 
able to see.” 

‘‘ It does not seem possible that you have been 
giving us a picture of a Christia^i family — a fair 
picture ! ” I hear somebody exclaim. No, not a 
picture of *a real^ but of a professed ^ " Christian 
household. Real Christianity is as far removed 
from the false as the east is from the west. If 
there is a genuine, — and let us thank God that 
there is, — just so surely there is a counterfeit. The 
one is only a sham, a deception, a miserable make- 


Priest and Priestess 


67 


believe. The light which it sheds is a fatal ignis 
fatMus ; it allures and turns from the right path 
the poor travelers on the highway of life, only to 
lead them on to destruction and certain death. 
The other forms the foundation of every well- 
regulated household. It shines with a steady ray ; 
for the oil of love and kindness supplies the flame. 
The father of such a household is filled with the 
love of Christ, which continually seeks expression 
in kindly acts of love and tenderness toward the 
dear ones entrusted to his keeping by his loving 
Heavenly Father. 

But while he is kind and tender, he does not 
forget that he is filling the position of priest in his 
household. He is captain of the little barge for 
whose safe landing he is in a great measure respons- 
ible ; and so, while the voice which commands the 
ship is gentle, it is steady and firm as a rock ; and 
while the eye may be often wet with tears of sorrow 
at the wayward course of some son or daughter, he 
does not allow it to become so dim that he can not 
see his chart and compass, or so dull that he can 
not follow the directions of his Guide-Book. 

The mother of such a household is gentle and 
loving and true. Her children rise up, and call 


68 


Making Home Peaceful 


her blessed. To them she is a counselor, a refuge, 
a ministering angel, a tender companion. But 
while she studies to minister to their comfort in 
every way that love can devise or true affection 
suggest, she withholds from them those hurtful 
pleasures that she knows will bring only days and 
nights of regret and sorrow and years of remorse 
and shame. In every way will the Christian 
mother aid her husband in his duties, and seek to 
cheer and encourage him with sympathy and words 
of counsel. If he is the priest, she is the priestess ; 
if he is the captain, she is the pilot. 

And what shall I say of the children of an ideal 
Christian home ? Surrounded from their babyhood 
with an atmosphere of love and peace, accustomed 
to look to father and mother for guidance and 
counsel, and never refused that love and tenderness 
which are the natural inheritance of every child 
^ born into the world, they come, in time, to take 
right views of life, and to choose — perhaps from 
force of circumstances and environment at first 
but from intelligent and deliberate choice at last — 
that path of wisdom into which their feet were 
early placed by their godly parents. 

There are exceptions to this rule,’’ you as- 


Priest and Priestess 69 

sert. Are there ? — Well, perhaps ; but Solomon 
made no mention of them. Train up a child 
in the way he should go,” — that is, make no 
mistake in the training of your child, — “and 
when he is old, he will not depart from it.” 
There you have the promise. You do your part, 
and God has pledged his eternal word as to the 
results. 

“ O, yes ; but every one makes mistakes ! ” Ah, 
there is the trouble. It is our own mistakes that 
cause the mischief ; and then we blame the Lord 
for the results. If with reproof comes love ; if 
with refusal to grant some cherished wish of the 
little one, there is granted something else which is 
better ; if with the rod of correction comes the tear' 
of sympathy, — then, and then only, can we expect 
to bind our dear ones to our hearts with a threefold 
cord of love, which can not be broken. That is 
the way the Lord deals with us, his erring children. 
He never refuses us anything without giving us 
something much better than what we ask for. He 
never chastens us but in love and pity, nor rebukes 
us but in mercy. 

But this is an ideal Christian household ; and 
James Beardsley’s was not such. That deference 


70 


Making Home Peaceful 


which is the rightful heritage of gray hairs was 
not taught by precept nor by example. 

The course that had always been taken by 
Grandmother Sharpe was not one which would 
naturally inspire the respect and love of the chil- 
dren, nor the forbearance and filial cordiality of 
her daughter and her son-in-law. In fact, she had 
developed just that kind of disposition which, to 
James Beardsley, was particularly harassing. If 
any one mentioned a good deed done by some one 
else. Grandmother Sharpe was ever ready with a 
querulous complaint that she was not appreciated, 
and that what she had done was of no account in 
the eyes of the family, for whom, as she represented 
it, she constantly labored for naught. The remotest 
word of affection or appreciation expressed toward 
the deacon was the signal for a torrent of reproach 
and jealousy from the misguided woman. 

If there is any place in life where the abiding 
grace and wisdom of God are needed, it is in 
dealing with such natures as these. You may be 
able to reason with a child ; but it is often impos- 
sible either to reason with or to restrain these 
children with gray hairs and wrinkled brows. 
Nothing but the transforming grace of Christ can 


Priest and Priestess 


71 


so remold and remake these unlovely characters as 
to form them into vessels of honor. He can do the 
work that it is impossible for us to do. With him 
it matters little whether the vessel be old or new, 
or whether the heart temple be shattered and in 
ruins, or corrupt and polluted. His grace is suffic- 
ient ; all he asks is an entrance, and he has promised 
to make the hoary head a crown of glory. 


CHAPTER VI 


TOM AND REGINALD 

D ames BEARDSEEY was becoming more and 
more alarmed every day over the waywardness 
of his son. 

“ It seems to me, Ellen, that something ought to 
be done with Reginald,” he said, one night to his 
wife. ‘‘ Really, the boy is getting entirely out 
from under my control ; and when I think that he 
has only just passed his fifteenth year, I am greatly 
distressed.” 

“ Why, what has he been doing so terrible, 
Jimmie?” responded Mrs. Beardsley, fretfully; 
‘‘seems to me he’s just as likely a boy as any 
around here.” 

“ Well, Ellen, I ’ll tell you ; I guess I might as 
well. I thought I would keep it from you, but I 
think you ought to know.” 

“ Dear me, Jimmie ! come, out with it ! don’t 
keep me waiting any longer. Seems as if you 
72 



Tom and Reginald 


73 


delight in torturing me sometimes. I ’m sure 1 
wish / could bear the blame of everything Regie 
does that ’s wrong. I guess you forget the time 
when yon were a boy.” 

Wait, wait, Ellen ! hear me ! ” exclaimed her 
husband, impatiently ; ‘‘I ought to have told you 
before. You know last Tuesday night you and I 
supposed Reginald was at the store. I was called 
away early in the evening, and left him to help 
Tom Willis and Riggs behind the counter an hour 
or two, as I have often done, supposing he would 
be home at nine. You remember he did not come 
home till nearly eleven o’clock, and gave as an 
excuse that the customers kept coming in so he 
couldn’t be spared. I thought it was strange, at 
the time. Well, Tom told me the next day that 
Reginald left the store early in the evening, after 
making his boast that he was n’t going to be held 
in by the ‘old man,’ as he was pleased to call me, 
much longer. Tom said he imagined something 
was wrong from what the boy had hinted about a 
certain appointment ; so he looked in at the window 
as he passed Reddy’s Hotel on his way home. It ’s 
not a regular saloon, of course, but they sell liquor 
there ; and, sure enough, there was oiir boy ^ — thiuk 


74 


Making Home Peaceful 


of it, Ellen ! ” and her husband’s voice quavered 
with emotion, — “ our boy / I tremble to think of 
him there at such an hour, and in such company ! 
and he did n’t get home for nearly two hours after- 
ward. Of course I don’t suppose he visits such 
places very often yet, but he was certainly there 
then ; for Tom saw him. Then there was the 
miserable lie he told us about it. I repeat it, Ellen, 
what are we going to do ? ” 

The face of Mrs. Beardsley was a study when her 
husband stopped speaking. It grew white and 
scarlet in turn. 

‘‘ And so you intend to criminate your own son, 
do you, on the word of that worthless fellow ! ” she 
exclaimed, her thin lips, white . and bloodless, and 
twitching with excitement. ‘‘If I can have my 
way, he ’ll be discharged to-morrow for concocting 
such lies about his employer’s son. He ’s just 
envious, I know he is, because Regie took the prize 
in that spelling contest last winter ; he worked 
hard to get it himself ; and now he ’s trying to turn 
the poor boy’s own father against him. It ’s just 
out of pure spite, — I know it, James. If my boy 
is going to be persecuted so at home, I guess he ’ll 
have to go to brother Earle’s to school, as he wants 


Tom and Reginald 


75 


to. I think his uncle will at least see that he is 
well-treated ; and though it seems as if the thought 
of having him away from home would break my 
heart, I can not have him persecuted so. Why, 
James,” she continued, Reginald told us why he 
was home late ; he said he was busy at the store ; 
and I, for one, prefer to take his word in preference 
to a stranger’s. I James, that you discharge 

that fellow ! ” and Mrs. Beardsley began to sob 
convulsively. 

Why, Ellen ! I can not think of such a thing. 
It would be most unjust. Besides, he’s not a 
stranger. Tom Willis is one of my most trusty 
clerks. He has served me faithfully for over five 
years ; I can not discharge him. Would God my 
own son was as trustworthy as Tom Willis ! ” 

Call him trustworthy, if you want to,” sobbed 
Mrs. Beardsley ; “ you ’ll find him out after a while ! 
I tell you, plainly, if you do not discharge him at 
once, you will regret it ; ” and in her heart the in- 
dignant and misguided woman determined that not a 
stone should be left unturned in the way of accom- 
plishing her object ; and from that time she began 
a series of petty persecutions against Tom Willis. 

“ I thought it my duty to tell you this,” con- 


76 Making Home Peaceful 

tinned Mr. Beardsley ; ‘‘ but I ’m sorry, now, that I 
did so. I hoped that we might be able, together, to 
devise some way to save our poor boy from the snares 
of the devil ; but you can’t see it as I do, — you can’t 
see his danger, — so I ’m sorry I told you.” 

not sorry you told me,” echoed his wife. 

I shall be on the outlook, after this, and I shall 
see that Reginald is on his guard against this ‘ hon- 
orable ’ clerk of yours. I dare say he has spread 
his nice little stor>^ all over town. But as long as 
my dear boy has a mother, she will protect him.” 

James Beardsley’s only reply was a deep sigh. 
He had hoped to have a sort of conference with his 
wife in regard to many matters. For a long time 
he had not felt satisfied with the careless way they 
were living. His godly father’s careful walk and 
conversation had been a continual reproof ever 
since he had lived with them. He saw that the 
old deacon sadly missed the morning and evening 
worship to which he had been accustomed. 

Sometimes as the shades of twilight gathered, 
and the stars — God’s lamps — came out in the 
sky, the busy man had noticed a peculiarly sad 
expression come into the old man’s calm, white 
face ; and the lines on the noble forehead seemed 


Tom and Reginald 


77 


to grow a little deeper, as he would call Flossie, 
and holding the tiny form close to his heart, would 
sing in a trembling voice, those blessed songs of 
Zion that James Beardsley so well remembered. 
They were the same that used to ring out from the 
old homestead among the hills at Jones ville in 
years long past. Then to the man of many cares 
would rise a picture. It was of a quiet family 
group : father and mother, each with a little brown- 
eyed child — Jennie and Jimmie of the long ago — 
seated on the arm of the spacious rockers, while in 
imagination he could hear the manly tones of his 
brother Paul, and see the dewy tear spring to the 
eyes of his beloved elder sister, as they all joined in 
singing,— 

Rock of ages, cleft for me ; 

Let me hide myself in thee.” 

At such times as these the Holy Spirit strove 
mightily with him. The time had been, years 
before, when he and his wife had first joined the 
church, that the family altar had been raised ; but 
as he had always realized that there was more 
formality than heart religion about its services, he 
had yielded to her suggestions that family prayers 
be discontinued. 


CHAPTER VII 


tom’s promise 


ND so this wonderful means of grace, provided 
and ordained of God, had been neglected ; and 
Mr. Beardsley’s children were growing up in a 
prayerless atmosphere. Sometimes, since his father 
had come to live with them, James Beardsley had 
suggested to his wife a return to the old customs ; 
for the Spirit of God was touching his heart, and 
making it tender. But whenever he attempted, in 
the remotest manner, to draw a comparison between 
his present home and that of his childhood, he was 
always met with reproaches from his wife. 

‘‘ Of course your father never made any mistakes, 
nor your mother, either, likely enough,” she would 
say. ‘‘ I don’t see but I ’m about as good as the 
ones who profess to be so perfect, and my family ’s 
just as good as my neighbors’.” 

Reader, are you forming an unfavorable opinion 
of this woman, a little of whose daily home life has 
78 




Town's Promise 


79 


been presented before you ? Are you already judg- 
ing her as a hot-tempered, hasty woman of the 
world, miwSguided and selfish in the extreme? Are 
you comparing her in your heart to some of your 
own acquaintances ? Ah, let us be careful lest, in 
our search for some one to fit this unhappy char- 
acter, we forget to look in the very place where 
possibly her face is reflected and her character 
duplicated — in our own selfish hearts. 

I am not a pessimist, and I hope I shall not be 
called pessimistic when I say that there are many 
and many an Ellen Beardsley in the church of 
Christ to-day. With this, the great Founder of the 
Christian religion is not pleased. What does he 
want? O, he would purify and cleanse them, if 
they would only let him ! He wants them to open 
wide the doors, and let him come in, with all his 
heavenly messengers — a glorious train. He invites 
you, me, every one, to exchange our selfishness for 
his charity, our impurity for his purity, our gar- 
ments of filthy rags for his robe of righteousness. 
Many of us have learned that 'love and tenderness 
should rule every action in the home government ; 
and so we immediately go to the other extreme, 
and blandly close our eyes to the foibles, and even 


8o 


Making Home Peaceful 


to the grosser evils, of our children. Thus the 
tender twig grows almost hopelessly crooked ; and 
the little branches, which might once have been 
trained to grow in beauty and symmetry by our 
side, become so deformed and twisted that nothing 
but a miracle of grace can ever make them any- 
thing but unsightly trees in the Master’s vineyard. 

Perhaps it would be well now to speak of 
the past life and character of Tom Willis, the 
young clerk who had been so unfortunate as to 
gain the hot displeasure of his employer’s wife. 

First let me say that Mrs. Beardsley had no 
intention of being unjust to the young man. She 
really believed that he was maliciously telling false- 
hoods about her beloved son. She had so long 
refused to see any of his misdeeds that she could 
not persuade herself that her boy, — her Regie, 
whom she looked upon with such pride, and in 
whom centered so many fond hopes, — could be a 
common liar, and voluntarily associate with low 
fellows at the beer-table. She could not make 
herself believe this, even when she had the best of 
evidence, — so effectual an anesthetic is selfishness. 

Perhaps it was the fact that Tom’s father had 
died a wretched, bloated drunkard, when Tom was 


Torn's Promise 


8i 


only a small boy, that caused him to have an 
unspeakable horror of strong drink, and of every- 
thing connected with it. Perhaps it was the dying 
words of his mother, which with each succeeding 
year of his life seemed to ring louder and louder 
in his ears, that led him to watch with almost a 
brother’s care the young son of his employer. Ah, 
how well he remembered that lonely night in dreary 
November, when his mother, his best eartlily friend, 
had called him to her bedside, thrown her wasted 
arms about him, and pressed her white lips to his 
cheek, as she whispered with her last breath her 
dying r>equest : Promise me, Tom, my boy, promise 
me in God’s name, you will not walk in the steps 
of your father. Promise me that by word and 
example you will lead evevy^ poor boy over whom 
you have any influence, away from the accursed 
cup.” The promise was made ; and with a- smile 
of peace, and a prayer that God would bless her 
boy, she had passed away. 

Then there was ever before him that other night, 
black and horrible, which had been burned into 
his memory as with a hot iron, when his father lay 
upon his bed of straw, mad with the horrible delir- 
ium which rum had caused, — that broad forehead, 
6 


82 


Alaking Home Peaceful 


once noble and lofty, marred as with the brand of 
Cain ; those piercing eyes, which had once beamed 
with intelligence, now bleared and expressionless, 
or filled with an unspeakable horror ; and that 
noble frame, once strong and active as a giant’s, 
prostrate, and writhing as if in the embrace of a 
serpent. With a shriek of agony, the tortured 
victim of the cup of demons had closed his eyes 
to earth forever. • 

Is it any wonder that Tom had a peculiar horror 
of the saloon and its accursed traffic ? He had 
noticed the growing tendency of young Reginald 
to seek evil associates ; and after pleading with 
him, and giving him as good advice as he knew 
how, — but all to no purpose, — he had determined, 
when he saw the young man at ‘‘ Reddy’s,” to talk 
frankly with his employer, and tell him all about it. 
Little did he know the storm of wrath that he was 
calling down upon his head. 

It was Monday morning — wash-day at James 
Beardsley’s. Breakfast was just over, and Mrs. 
Sharpe was concluding her old-time remarks on 
the strangeness of the fact that nobody seemed to 
care anything for her, when Mrs. Mallery knocked 
hastily at the side door, and without waiting to be 


Toni's Proniise 


83 


admitted, thrust her head, carefully wrapped in 
many folds of red woolen cloth, into the dining- 
room, and in her rich Irish brogue, announced : 
“ It ’s mesilf that ’s laid up entoirely ‘ wid me 
neuralgy since this last cold snap, Mrs. Beardsley; 
and me bye Tim ’s that sick wid a high faver ” 

‘‘ O, I know what you ’re going to say, of course ; 
— you can’t do my washing to-day! I just felt 
sure something would happen, because I ’m in an 
awful hurry 1 ” exclaimed Mrs. Beardsley, fretfully. 
‘‘ It ’s always just so,” she added. “ I shall send 
Janet at once for Mrs. Poole. Really, Mrs. Mal- 
lery, I can not have such irregularity about my 
washings.” At mention of Mrs. Poole, the poor 
woman broke down entirely ; she could barely live 
anyway, and felt that she could not afford to lose 
even the paltry earnings of one washing. So it was 
arranged that she take it home with her. Finally, 
as she started off with her heavy load, she paused 
long enough to explain that ‘‘rint was that high,” 
and what with her own and Tim’s doctor bill, she 
could barely live. Me Timmy ’s a mighty slinder 
choild, an’ I ofttimes faier I ’ll not kape him long,” 
she concluded. 

“ The very idea ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Beardsley, 


84 


Making Home Peaceful 


with a sneer, as soon as her caller had departed ; 
‘‘ the child ’s as tough as a bear ! I hi risk him ! 
It beats all and all how the silly woman humors 
that great freckle-faced, awkward child.’’ 

Why, you know, Ellen, the boy is all she has 
left since her ‘poor mon,’ as she calls him, died. I 
can’t blame her,” said Mr. Beardsley; “you know 
how you feel toward our children.” 

“As if, James, — as if my children could be 
compared to that horrid little Irish boy ! ” 

“ O mama, don’t, please don’t ! ” pleaded Flossie, 
whose tender heart was at once touched when she 
heard of her little favorite’s illness. “ Flossie does 
like Tim, ’cause ” 

“You are spoiling that child, James, by encour- 
aging her in choosing such low-bred associates,” 
interrupted Mrs. Beardsley, haughtily. Mr. Beards- 
ley’s only reply was a quiet smile, while Grand- 
mother Sharpe hastened to remark, in an injured 
manner, that she had her opinion, but of course 
nobody cared to hear what she thought. 

Mrs. Beardsley had never liked Tim, — she did 
not like any children but her own, — and this 
occurrence and conversation only deepened her 
dislike for him. Consequently, a few days after- 


Torn's Promise 


85 


ward, when the poor, pinched little face, whereon 
the much-ridiculed freckles stood out plainer than 
ever, appeared at the door, Mrs. Beardsley was 
decidedly irritated ; but Flossie begged so hard 
for a half-hour’s play with him that her mother 
gave a reluctant consent. 

It was only a little while after the child had left, 
that Mrs. Beardsley had occasion to pass a dresser 
where she was sure she had that morning left a 
five-dollar gold-piece. The money belonged to 
Janet, the hired girl. A friend had called that 
morning and had left the money, which she had 
owed Janet for some time ; and as Janet was gone 
that day, her friend had asked Mrs. Beardsley to 
hand it to her. Now it was gone. She called to 
mind at once that she had seen Tim in that room, 
near the dresser ; for she had noticed the reflection 
of his pale, pinched face, with its big eyes, and the 
shock of yellow hair, in the mirror. Yes, she knew 
he had been in the room ; and now the money was 
gone. 


CHAPTER VIII 


WHO IS THE thief? 


HERE was but one conclusion to arrive at, in 
the mind of Ellen Beardsley, — Tim Mallery 
had stolen the money, — there was no mistake 
about it. Well, there was at least some satisfac- 
tion in the thought that she could now prove to 
her husband that her estimate of the child had 
been correct. However, she reasoned that there 
was a possibility that James might have picked it 
up at dinner-time. Regie certainly had not touched 
it ; he never did such things. She was careful to 
see that he had a liberal allowance of pocket- 
money ; for she did not believe in boys of his age 
being cramped and hampered, and obliged to beg 
every cent of money they needed, — a policy she 
lived tX) regret with many a bitter tear. She finally 
decided she would say nothing about the matter 
until James and Regie came to supper. By this 
time she was more certain than ever that little 



86 


Who is the Thief? 


87 


Tim was the culprit ; and had worked herself 
into quite a furor of ‘‘righteous indignation,” as 
she termed it. 

“James,” she called, as soon as she heard her 
husband’s step at the door, “ did you see anything 
of that five-dollar gold-piece I left on the dresser 
this morning? It was Janet’s. I spoke about it at 
breakfast.” 

“Why, no, Ellen; why? Have you lost it?” 

“ Eost it ! ” exclaimed his wife, in a tragic man- 
ner; “ of course I ’ve lost it ! And that is n’t all, — 
that little Irish paragon of yours, Tim Mallery, has 
stolen it ! I know it as well as if I had seen him 
take it.” 

“ Why, you haven’t asked Reginald yet ; it may 
be possible he has it,” suggested Mr. Beardsley. 

“ I know he has n’t it ! He never does such 
things ; he is not a common sneak-thief. Oh, I 
know who has it ! ” 

If Mrs. Beardsley had noticed the peculiar ex- 
pression that flitted over Reginald’s face at that 
moment, as he exclaimed, doggedly, “ I have n’t 
got yer money ! ” she might not have been so sure 
of little Tim’s guilt. 

Mr. Beardsley noticed it ; but warned by past 


88 


Making Home Peaceful 


experiences, he did not press his investigations 
further. By this time it began to dawn in Flossie’s 
mind that her little playmate was being accused of 
something dreadful, of which the sensitive child 
knew instinctively that he was not guilty. 

“ O mama ! ” she pleaded, while the large tears 
ran down her cheeks; “ Timmie didn’t take the 
money. I k^iow Timmie did n’t take the money, 

— poor Timmie!” 

Hzish, you naughty child!” commanded Mrs. 
Beardsley, impatiently, “he shall not play with you 
any more. There is no accounting for that child’s 
queer taste,” she added ; and at these harsh words 
from her usually indulgent mother, little Flossie 
sobbed the harder, and refused to be comforted. 

Even Reginald felt somewhat ill at ease, and 
went so far as to offer to show her his latest book, 

— a natural history, with pictures of lions and 
tigers in it. This was an unusual proceeding on 
his part ; but poor Flossie was so heart-broken at 
the direful prospect of never playing with little Tim 
again, that she only sobbed the more, refused to 
eat her supper, and, much to Mrs. Beardsley’s an- 
noyance, begged grandpa to rock her and tell her 
a story. Deacon Beardsley had learned to preserve 


Who is the Thief? 


89 


a discreet silence at such times as this ; and there 
was a look of patient forbearance on the calm face, 
when Grandmother Sharpe declared that it was 
‘Square Flossie would never let her rock her, or 
listen to any of her stories.’’ However, before 
leaving the table to minister to Flossie, he re- 
marked that as far as Timmie was concerned, he 
thought the child entirely innocent ; and that it 
would be best to exercise a little of that blessed 
charity which “ thinketh no evil.” 

Mrs. Beardsley only bit her lip, and was silent ; 
but she determined, more from a desire to have 
her own way and to prove that she was right, than 
from any ill will, to see the child, and accuse him 
of the theft, when, she had no doubt, he would im- 
mediately acknowledge his guilt, and return the 
money. More than that, being so sure he had 
taken it, she decided to be very lenient, — she 
could afford to be, when she had proved her point, 
— and refuse to take the money when it was re- 
turned by the little culprit, after she had given 
Mrs. Mallery some good advice on the training 
of children, especially such untoward children as 
her Tim. 

By the next morning, whatever slight qualms of 


90 


Making Ho^ne Peaceful 


conscience Reginald Beardsley may have felt on 
the previous evening, had quite given place to a 
feeling of exultation that he had so completely 
succeeded in deceiving his mother. He had in- 
tended, at first, in case he was asked anything 
about the money to return it, and call it a good 
joke. He was surprised to see the turn that affairs 
had taken. The temptation to keep the money be- 
came so strong when he saw that his mother did 
not distrust him, that the misguided boy readily 
yielded, and soon became so hardened as actually 
to congratulate himself on his “ good luck ” as 
he called it. 

Early in the morning. Will Green, a chum of 
Reginald’s, and one of the most reckless boys in 
Harrisburg, came into Mr. Beardsley’s store to 
ask Reginald to join him in a skating party the 
next night. “ Come on back here. Will, and 
we’ll talk it over,” called Reginald, adding in a 
lower voice, “ Got just the dandiest thing you 
ever heard of to tell you — just too rich to keep” — 
he chuckled. By that time they were snugly 
ensconced behind the great stove, well out of the 
hearing of the other clerks ; and Reginald has- 
tened to tell his little adventure about the miss- 


Who is the Thief? 


91 


ing gold-piece, forgetting, in his excitement, that 
there were other ears open besides Will Green’s. 
Before he realized it, his whispered conversation 
had given place to an animated, though rather 
low, tone. Just as he was in’ the midst of the 
story, Tom Willis had occasion to go to the back 
part of the store to wait on a customer, when his 
attention was attracted by hearing his name. » 
You see,” Reginald was saying, ‘‘my pocket- 
money was getting rather low ; and Tom keeps 
such sharp watch of things that I did n’t see any 
way of getting more right away, but mother left 
just the amount I wanted on the dresser. It ’s 
Janet’s money — hired girl, you know — but then, 
she’s no good, doesn’t half earn her wages, any- 
how. Mother thinks little Tim Mallery ’s got it. 
She ’s going over there to make him own up — 
she ’ll scare him into it all right ! — sh ! there ’s 

Tom ! Guess he did n’t hear, though.” 

' But all day long at school the guilty boy 
worried for fear Tom had heard something of 
what he had said ; but after a little scheming and 
study, he made up his mind what he would do if 
he had heard, and should tell his father. It would 
take a pretty cunning falsehood to cover up his 


92 


Making Horne Peaceful 


tracks ; but poor Reginald was getting used to that. 
He felt sure, from past experience, that his mother 
would believe implicitly anything, whether reason- 
able or unreasonable, that he chose to tell her. 

Tom Willis was sad beyond expression at what 
he had heard. He was sure that an innocent child 
was suffering reproach and blame that justly be- 
longed to the unscrupulous son of his employer. 


CHAPTER IX 


POOR I.ITTI.B TIM 

rj^OOR Tom was in a quandary. Mr. Beardsley 
IIJHI had always been kind to him ; but of late 
he had noticed a marked difference in Mrs. Beards- 
ley’s manner, which he rightly judged was because 
of his telling what he saw at Reddy’s saloon. 
Should he inform Mr. Beardsley of what he had 
heard, and so run the risk of being discharged? 
He felt sure, for numerous reasons, that his em- 
ployer’s wife was not at all prepossessed in his 
favor ; and he feared that if he did as his con- 
science dictated in the affair, the consequences 
might be grave for himself. 

“I wouldn’t care for myself, if it wasn’t for 
Maggie — poor little sister!” he said to himself. 

It would break her heart if I should lose my 
situation ; but still she ’d tell me to do right, any- 
way ; she always does.” So it turned out that 
before he went home that night, Tom had told his 

93 



94 


Making Home Peaceful 


employer the conversation to which he had been 
an unwilling listener. 

“ I expected as much,” said James Beardsley to 
himself, as he walked sadly homeward. “ I must 
turn over a new leaf with that boy, or he is lost. 
But how am I to do it alone ? I expect to have a 



The Old House Looked so Cheerless 


hard task to convince Ellen that our boy is a 
thief. Father in heaven, help me ! ” he prayed. 

Meantime Mrs. Beardsley prepared herself to 
call at Mrs. Mallery’s lonely, tumble-down cot- 
tage. She felt that she must free her mind that 
very afternoon. It was stinging cold, and the sharp 


Poor Little Tim 


95 


north wind sent the few stray flakes of snow whirl- 
ing wildly about, as if they were trying to find a 
shelter from the pitiless blast. Somehow she 
almost wished she had not started out, — almost 
wished she had been a little less positive. The 
old house looked so cheerless, so deserted, with its 
curtainless windows and its flapping clapboards, 
that the inmates naturally appealed to her pity. 
She drew her comfortable fur cloak a little closer 
about her. The blessed Spirit was pleading with 
her ; and in spite of herself. Grandfather Beards- 
ley’s words about the charity which thinketh no 
evil kept ringing in her ears. Yes, she was really 
sorry she had started ; but seeing she had, of 
course it would never do to go back. Then she 
remembered that her husband had insinuated that 
Reginald had taken the money. 

At once all her bitterness returned. She would 
prove to his entire satisfaction that their son would 
not stoop to such an act. Her hand was on the 
rattling door-latch, — she had almost forgotten to 
knock. It had been years since Ellen Beardsley 
had called on her poor neighbor, and now to call 
on such an errand, — really, it did seem too bad ! 
Mrs. Mallery heard the hand upon the door, and 


96 


Making Home Peaceful 


hastened to open it. A hollow cough greeted Mrs. 
Beardsley’s ears as she entered. 

“ Indade, Mis’ Beardsley, an’ whativer sint the 
loikes of ye over in the storm? Jump up, Tim- 
mie, and give Mis’ Beardsley the sate.” 

The rickety rocker which the pale-faced lad 
hastily vacated and respectfully handed to his 
mother’s caller was the only chair in the room. 
Ellen Beardsley was actually ashamed, in pres- 
ence of this kindly hospitality, to tell her errand ; 
but pride and self-will prevailed. It was some 
time before little Tim could understand what was 
the trouble. 

‘‘What is it, mammy? what is it?” he pleaded. 

“ Why, Timmie, don’t ye understand ? She 
thinks you ’re a thaif, — little Flossie’s mither 
thinks ye stole her money.” 

The big, hollow eyes seemed to grow larger, 
and the dark circle underneath them to grow 
darker. 

“A dollar, mammy — a big round dollar — five 
of ’em ? It ’s been a good while since I seen one.” 
• Again that hollow cough sounds out. Strange 
that Mrs. Beardsley had never noticed that the 
child was so slender and wasted. If it had not 


Poor Little Tim 


97 


been for proving herself in the right, she would 
have gone home at once, satisfied of little Tim’s 
innocence ; but the stubborn fact remained that 
the money was gone. She knew Regie did not 
take it ; Janet was gone that day ; and of course 
Flossie did not have it, and baby could never have 
reached it. So Mrs. Beardsley resorted to new 
tactics. Reaching her hand toward little Tim, 
vShe said : ‘‘ Come here, child. Don’t you see 
you must have taken it? There was no one else 
in the room, and I saw you near the dresser. 
I can’t let Flossie play with you any more, unless 
you tell me the truth.” 

Then turning to Mrs. Mallery : ‘‘ I don’t want 
the money ; you are quite welcome to that, but I 
want to know the truth.” 

Little Tim had seemed to hear nothing except 
the decree that he could not play with Flossie any 
more. Then he broke out into a. loud wail : ‘‘ Oh, 
we was goin’ to play Injun next time, and Flossie’s 
goin’ to show me her new pictures. I ain’t got 
no money to give ye, but I want to play with little 
Flossie. She'^s, good to me, she be.” 

The poor child seemed unable to understand 
anything more than that if he would only give 

7 


98 


Making Home Peaceful 


Flossie’s mother some money, she would allow 
him the privilege of playing with her little girl. 

W’en I git big, I ’ll earn a dollar, if I ’m well, 
and then I ’ll give it to ye.” 

What could Mrs. Beardsley do? Mrs. Mallery 
sat upon the edge of the miserable bed, sobbing 
brokenly : “ An’ to think of me poor little bye’s 
bein’ a thaif ! ” Surely Ellen Beardsley’s errand 
had been a success, if her success might be meas- 
ured by the misery she had caused. But she was 
irritated. She did n’t see why Mrs. Mallery 
should “ take on ” so. Had she forgotten how 
bitterly she herself had resented the faintest sug- 
gestion that her son might have appropriated the 
money ? Ah, that was quite another matter ! 

There was but one thing left for her to do, — to 
excuse herself to Mrs. Mallery, and go home. 
Her last view of the lonely house and its miser- 
able inmates haunted her for days. It was of a 
wretched woman, whose eyes were red with weep- 
ing, seated in an old chair, clasping a hungry- 
looking boy to her heart, and rocking back and 
forth in an abandon of grief and misery. 

If Mrs. Beardsley was unprepared, even yet, 
fully to believe in little Tim’s innocence, she was 


Poor Little Tim 


99 


still more unprepared to hear her husband’s ex- 
planation of the miserable affair, as he had heard 
it from Tom Willis. She arrived home from her 
visit of “ investigation,” as she called it, in any- 
thing but a pleasant frame of mind, and now to 
hear her husband’s version of the matter, and 
above all, to see that he fully believed it, exas- 
perated her beyond expression. 

‘‘ I tell you, James, that Tom Willis is deliber- 
ately trying his best to ruin our son. I don’t be- 
lieve a word of his story — there ! ” 

‘‘ But, Ellen, you forget yourself. Do hear to 
Cteason ; how could Tom have known anything 
jabout the affair, if he had n’t heard it from 
Reginald ? ” 

‘‘ Well, I shall ask my boy, and I shall believe 
his explanation of it ; ” and the misguided woman 
left the room, weeping, not tears of sorrow over 
the wayward course of her son, but tears of indig- 
nation and anger. 


CHAPTER X 


reginai^d’s duplicity 

IHE next half-hour found Mrs. Beardsley and 

I Reginald closely closeted together in the lad’s 

room. When they came out, Mrs. Beardsley’s face 
was a puzzle ; and as they passed Grandpa Beards- 
ley’s door, he heard her mutter : “ I ’ll see about 
that Tom Willis ; he has foiled me as long as I in- 
tend he shall. It is just as I told your father ; 
Tom never can get over it because you took the 
prize in that spelling contest. You know he tried 
hard for it, and he ’s been determined to get you 
into disgrace ever since.” If grandpa’s blind eyes 
could have been opened, he would have seen such 
an expression of crafty deceit and cunning upon 
the lad’s face as would have startled him. He had 
succeeded in deceiving his mother. 

Whether it was on account of the nervous strain 
which Mrs. Beardsley had endured, or whatever 
may have been the cause, she awoke the next 
morning with a blinding headache. 


lOO 


Reginald'* s Duplicity 


lOI 


Grandpa Beardsley was awakened by the sound 
of hurrying footsteps passing to and fro by his 
chamber door. Janet had returned, the night 
before ; and it was her steps, as she hastened to 
the relief of her mistress, that had awakened the 
old deacon, who forthwith fell to musing. 

“ I wonder what Ellen meant by that remark I 
overheard as she passed the door last evening,” 
he said to himself. “ There ’s trouble brewing 
for that young man, Tom Willis, or I ’m mistaken. 
He ’s a good fellow, and a Christian, I ’m sure of 
that. I can tell one of the Master’s sons, from 
the tone of his voice and the words of his mouth. 
O that the blessed religion of Jesus Christ pre- 
vailed in this unhappy household ! Jimmie is try- 
ing to do what is right, but the poor boy gets no 
help from Ellen. Then there ’s Reginald ! ” and 
the old man sighed deeply ; “ he ’s no more like 
his father or his uncle Paul than anything in the 
world. The more his folks do for him, the more 
he lords it over them with a high hand. There ’s 
nothing that boy wants but he gets it, and then 
he only asks the more. I don’t believe his mother 
ever corrected him in his life, no matter what 
he did ; and his father ’s getting so he ’s actually 


102 Making Home Peaceful 

afraid to. Then the trouble his teachers have 
with him in school, — it ’s too bad. I wish I 
could do something to help bring about a better 
state of things ; but then, it ’s ‘ not by might, nor 
by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord.’ But 
I can’t help thinking of the difference between 
that boy and my Paul when he was his age. Why, 
he would n’t any more have thought of giving me 
a disrepectful word than anything. 

‘‘ I did n’t do right by my children ’when they 
were little ; I was too severe with them. Now 
Jimmie’s folks are going to the other extreme, 
and that’s just as bad,” and the deacon sighed 
softly ; “ but God opened my eyes, and whereas I 
was blind, he made me see. 

‘‘ How well I remember how pleased Paul was 
on his seventeenth birthday, when mother and 
Emma fixed his room all up for him — seems like 
yesterday ! But I ’m sure of this thing,” he con- 
tinued, all children can not be dealt with alike. 
Some must be held in with bit and bridle ; and 
some, well, — just a word or a tear is enough for 
some. There ’s that baby Bessie ; she ’s coming 
up in the same tracks as Reginald. I ’ve seen 
Jimmie make some efforts to teach that child her 


Reginald's Duplicity 103 

place, but Ellen always blames him for it, and 
says she ’s too young to correct. Ah, me ! things 
are not as they were forty or fifty years ago. 
Well, the good Book says that ‘ in the last days 
perilous times shall come,’ and that children will 
be disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, 
and without natural affection. I don’t mean to 
complain, but the boy doesn’t seem to have a 
grain of common respect for me ; Jimmie ’ll see 
trouble with that boy. Maybe the good Eord will 
let me lie in the grave before the worst comes,” 
and the old man sighed wearily. 

Baby Bessie awoke early that morning, in her 
worst mood ; and as soon as breakfast was over, 
insisted upon going to her mama’s room. In vain 
Janet protested, and explained that “ poor mama’s 
head ached,” and baby would make her worse ; 
she would not be pacified, and her cries and 
screams resounded throughout the house. “ Me 
wants mama ! ” she cried. 

“Dear me, baby, won’t you go to grandma?” 
persuaded Janet. “ See ! here is Bessie’s nice 
new dolly.” 

“ Come and see sister, baby,” called Flossie, 
from her chair. 


104 Makmg Home Peaceful 

It was of no use. Bessie seemed perfectly 
aware that her will was being crossed, and that 
every one was trying to pacify her, and this, of 
course, made her determined not to be pacified. 

“ I can’t do nothin’ with the child ; of course she 
won’t come to mef complained Grandma Sharpe. 

At this juncture. Grandpa Beardsley offered his 
assistance as a kind of re-enforcement, and the 
young rebel, still screaming lustily, was dropped 
into his arms. Smash ! went the dear old gentle- 
man’s new goggles upon the floor, while his slip- 
pery little charge squirmed out of his arms in a 
moment, after inflicting an ugly scratch on the 
thin white cheek. 

At last, during a momentary lull, a faint voice 
was heard from the sick-room: ‘‘Bring her here, 
Janet.” ' 

There was a new chorus of howls while the 
transportation was being made, until Anally the 
weary maid dropped her charge at the side of 
the mother’s bed. 

“ Did they ’buse mother’s darling ? ” A loud 
and long wail was her only answer. 

“ It ’s strange, Janet, that you can’t manage to 
get along with that child. Why donH you learn to 


Reginald's Duplicity 105 

give her what she wants? You know as well as I 
do that she ’ll cry till she has her way. She 
always cries when her will is crossed, don’t you, 
darling?” 

A chorus of ^shrieks is her reply, in the midst 
of which poor Janet beats a hasty retreat. 

But now Mrs. Beardsley’s troubles begin in 
earnest. The unreasoning child has caught sight 
of a to)^ whistle, unfortunately lying upon the 
bureau, and at once demands : “ Me wants whis- 

tle ! me play toot-cars ! ” 

In vain does the misguided mother, whose ach- 
ing head has not been at all benefited by this 
course of treatment, protest that she can not reach 
the whistle. The naturally good memory of the 
child comes to her aid, and she remembers that 
mama said, “ Baby will always cry for what she 
wants until she gets it;” so, nothing loath, she 
begins at once to act upon her foolish mother’s 
instructions, with the result that the whistle is 
speedily forthcoming. Then she is ready to begin 
operations. 

Trot, trot, trot, back and forth, back and forth, 
fly the little feet, to the shrill accompaniment of 
the whistle, until Mrs. Beardsley’s worn-out nerves 


io6 Making Home Peaceful 

can endure it no longer, and she is forced to call 
Janet to the rescue ; but it is not until every one 
in the house is entirely worn out, that sleep conies 
to the weary little body, tired at last of being 
naughty, and quiet again reigns in the house. 

I must now ask my readers to go back with me 
to the previous night, upon the evening of which 
Mrs. Beardsley’s and Reginald had their secret 
conference, when, as we must suppose, the schem- 
ing lad ‘‘ explained ” how it was that Tom Willis 
happened to know anything about the missing 
money. It seems terrible to think how it was 
possible for one so young to conceive so much 
mischief, or to bring forth so many falsehoods. 
But when one has once entered the school of vice, 
it is astonishing to see how incredibly short is the 
time required in which to be graduated. 

The clock on the mantel has just struck the half- 
hour past twelve ; everybody is asleep in the house 
except Reginald, and the flickering light thrown 
by the street-lamp upon the walls of the lad’s bed- 
room remind him, in spite of himself, of Bunyan’s 
‘‘door in the side of the hill,” whence issued fire 
and smoke, and which was the doorway to the pit. 
He has not closed his eyes to sleep since his mother 


ReginaWs Duplicity 107 

left the room. He has a little errand to attend to, 
and he does not care to be disturbed while attend- 
ing to it. 

The fire in the furnace still gives out a little 
heat, but it is a bitterly cold night. Is it this that 
causes the lad to shiver as he silently rises ? 
Throwing a large shawl hastily around him, he 
carefully opens his bedroom door, and steps softly 
into the hall. Where can he be going ? See ! he 
gropes his way along the dark hall until he reaches 
the head of the stairs. 

Half-way down the stairs, his foot presses upon 
a loosely nailed board. What a loud creaking it 
makes ! He never noticed that there was a creak- 
ing board on the stairs before. He is trembling, 
in spite of all he can do. Ah ! how true it is that 
guilt makes cowards of the bravest. We watch 
him with an interest that is growing more intense. 
Look ! he is swiftly crossing the dining-room ; the 
light from the street-lamp shows him plainer now. 
What can he want in the little room where the 
dresser stands ? Listen ! we hear a sharp clink, as 
of the ringing of a coin. The mystery is solved. 
The guilty lad has determined to return the stolen 
money, and persuade his mother that it has been 


io8 Making Home Peaceful 

there all the time ; then Tom Willis, whom the 
reckless boy is beginning both to hate and to 
fear, will be discharged. 

‘‘ Now,’^ he whispers to himself, “ I guess 
he ’ll not tell any more tales on me, and I ’ve 
straightened little Tim Mallery’s record out all 
right, besides ; even father ’ll have to believe 
this evidence, and that pious chap will get his 
walking-papers in a jiffy, or I ’m mistaken. He ’s 
always preaching to me and croaking at me, 
and acts as if he could n’t rest till he tells 
father of every little thing I do. I don’t care 
if he is poor, and his sister ’s sick. I hate him — 
hate him ! ” 

Ah, Reginald ! would you tremble if I should 
tell yon that you are a murderer ? I doubt not 
that you would ; and yet a greater than I has said 
it. The mighty Judge, before whose face you 
must stand some day, has pronounced you guilty : 
“Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer.” 
There is no use in trying to dodge the issue. Your 
own lips have condemned you ; and unless you 
haste with flying feet to the “ City of Refuge,” 
the gates of that other city, whose streets are 
gold-paved, will be closed to you. “ For without 


Reginald'' s Duplicity 109 

are . . . sorcerers, and . . . murderers, . . . and 
whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.” 

As soon as Mrs. Beardsley had a few hours^ 
quiet sleep, she was able, though still pale and 
weak, to go down-stairs. She determined to take 
Reginald’s advice, and search more carefully in 
the place where she thought she had laid the piece 
of gold, but she did not expect to find it. She 
still believed it must be that little Tim had taken 
it ; but in any case she decided that Tom Willis 
must be discharged, for had n’t Regie explained, 
to her complete satisfaction, how he had care- 
lessly mentioned the affair of the lost money in 
Tom’s presence ? Of course that was the way he 
had found out about it, and had thereupon de- 
termined to cast the ♦reproach of the sneaking 
theft upon her boy. 

Ellen Beardsley did not stop to think that the 
young man would not have had the remotest object 
in doing this, — so blind and unreasoning was her 
foolish prejudice, — so blind and unreasoning is 
prejudice always and ever. It matters not one whit 
where you find it, — whether in the church, wear- 
ing the garb of piety ; or in the world, hiding be- 
hind the mask of sincerity and the cloak of morality. 


no 


Making Home Peaceful 


— it is always the same. Prejudice thrives both in 
the church and in the world ; and while Malice 
and Envy have slain their thousands, red-handed 
Prejudice has slain her tens of thousands. She 
counts her victims among the high and the low ; 
and there is no sanctuary so sacred but she seeks to 
intrude her hateful presence, no soul so pure but 
her dark shadow at one time or another falls across 
the threshold of its most guarded portals. And 
wherever her shadow has fallen, there comes black- 
ness and blight and mildew. 

Ellen Beardsley carefully examines every place 
on the cover of the dresser where she might, in a 
fit of absent-mindedness, have dropped the coin. 
There are two or three little boxes, — no, it is not 
in them, — wait ! there it is, now, in a little earthen 
cup, among odd buttons and marbles. 

Her white cheek flushes and pales by turns. 
Little Tim is surely innocent ! Chagrin and em- 
barrassment, anger and humiliation, rise in her 
proud, selfish heart, that her cruel folly and un- 
just suspicion should thus be made manifest. 
But great as is her chagrin, still greater is her 
secret satisfaction at being at last able to prove 
to her husband that his trusted, clerk is guilty of 


Regmald'^s Duplicity iii 

telling a deliberate falsehood. He is a mean, 
sneaking fellow, in spite of his high profession 
and smooth words, and now she can prove him 
such. Mrs. Beardsley hastily takes the coin, and 
again seeks her own room, after asking Janet to 
tell Mr. Beardsley that she would like to see him 
at once, as soon as he came in. 

Well, Ellen,” said Mr. Beardsley, opening the 
door of their room, softly, ‘‘here I am; what is 
it, Ellen? a little better, I’m hoping,” and he 
dropped into a chair, while his wife threw herself 
back upon the bed, and hid her face among the 
pillows. 

James Beardsley could plainly see, from her 
excited manner and flushed face, that something 
unusual must have happened. 

He was in doubt as to whether her communica- 
tion would be pleasant or otherwise, and his curi- 
osity was considerably heightened at the copious 
burst of tears which followed his question ; — for 
Ellen Beardsley had determined to be as impress- 
ive as possible. Hitherto she had failed in con- 
vincing her husband that it was for their interest, 
and more especially for the interest of their only 
son, that Tom Willis be discharged. 


1 12 Making Home Peaceful ' 

“ Do tell me, Ellen ; you ’re not worse, I hope.” 

‘‘James, James, he is trying to ruin our son! 
I told you he was, but you would n’t believe me ; 
but now I haye the proof. See here ! ” she cried, 
tragically dropping the yellow coin that had been 
the cause of so much misery, into her husband’s 
hand. 

“Whom are you talking about? not Tom? it 
can’t be Tom you mean 1 Where did you get this 
money ? ” 

“ Where did I get it, indeed ? — Just where I 
left it all the while ; I was careless. I’ll admit, and 
of course I was mistaken about Tim ; but don’t 
you see, at last, that Tom Willis, the clerk whom 
you have trusted so long, and whom you think so 
faithful, is a hypocrite and a liar? Poor Regie 
was unfortunate enough to arouse his jealousy in 
that prize contest. Of course you can not be so 
unjust as to keep him in your employ any longer.” 

James Beardsley was perplexed. Already the 
correct solution of the mystery had flashed into 
his mind, with the certainty of conviction ; but 
what could he do? He felt that he was power- 
less to stem the tide of his wife’s prejudices, and 
he only replied : “ I will dismiss him, Ellen, 


Reginald's Duplicity 113 

though I am persuaded that it is most unjust ; 
and what the poor fellow will do, with his in- 
valid sister on his hands, I can’t tell ; ” and James 
Beardsley sighed heavily, and buried his face in 
his hands. He was coming to see more and more, 
of late, the terrible results of the unwise manage- 
ment of their children. And now the v/ords of the 
wise man rang in his ears with a new meaning and 
a deep conviction of their truth : “A child left to 
himself bringeth his mother to shame.” Then he 
thought of the days of old, and of Eli, the priest 
of Israel. What if a like terrible punishment 
which the Lord brought upon Eli as a result of the 
slack discipline of his sons should be visited upon 
him? 

But Ellen Beardsley had gained her point, and 
she was contented ; that is, as contented as an 
unregenerate person can be. In her joy, she 
actually sent Janet the next morning to tell Mrs. 
Mallery that the coin had been found, and that she 
was glad to know that her Tim was innocent ; and 
also that she would give her an extra day’s work, 
with extra pay, if she would come home with 
Janet. But what was Ellen Beardsley’s dismay, a 
half-hour later, when Janet came hurrying into the 


1 14 Making Home Peaceful 

sitting-room, where her mistress sat holding little 
Bessie, with the startling information that she had 
found Mrs. Mallery sitting dejectedly by the bed- 
side of little Tim, who was moaning and tossing 
in the wild delirium of fever. Mrs. Beardsley was 
conscience-stricken. Could it be that the child had 
been in the least affected by her foolish visit ? And 
again the vision of the sobbing woman, holding a 
pale-faced boy close to her heart, and rocking back 
and forth in her cheerless room, rose in her mem- 
ory ; and with an anxious note in her voice, which 
she could not conceal, she asked : What did Mrs. 
Mallery say, Janet? Tell me quickly — I must 
know. Did she say that I — that Tim — no, of 
course not ; it can’t be that the child cared any- 
thing about what I said that day ! What did she 
say, Janet?” 

“ Well, now you ’ve asked me, I suppose I might 
as well tell you that sh'e did say that the child was 
almost sick the day you called, and he had been 
getting worse ever since. The poor thing did n’t 
have hardly a brand of fire in the old stove, — 
said the wood and coal was all gone, but the 
‘poor bye wouldn’t fale it if it was cold,’ and she 
did not care for herself. It ’s too bad, Mrs. 


Reginald'' s Duplicity 115 

Beardsley ! If I were n’t a poor girl myself, I’d 
do something for her.” 

“ Well, never mind, Janet,” said Mrs. Beardsley, 
coldly, — she could not endure the implied rebuke 
of her ‘‘ help,” though her own conscience, selfish 
as she was, was troubling her sadly, — “ never mind 
telling me what you do. Just step over to the 
store, and tell Mr. Beardsley to send over some 
coal to Mrs. Mallery, at once. But wait — did 
she say anything about the money?” 

‘‘ O, yes ; when I told her yon had found it, she 
just broke right down, and cried, and tried to 
make the sick boy understand, but she could n’t, 
and then she cried and cried, and said — ‘ too late.’ ” 

“ Dear me ! I presume everybody ’ll think I ’m 
to be blamed,” whimpered the conscience-stricken 
woman, whose chief concern, however, seemed to 
be the fear that she should be censured. “ Well, 
do hurry up, Janet, and have the coal ordered, and 
get back, and put up some food in a basket. I 
presume it will come good.” 

“ You need n’t send the coal, Mrs. Beardsley, for 
some of the other neighbors are ahead of you there. 
I saw a man drive up with some just as I left, — 
but I ’ll carry the food.” 


ii6 Making Home Peaceful 

Janet did not return until a late hour that eve- 
ning ; and when she did, it was with the news that 
little Tim Mallery was dead. The doctor said that 
some additional trouble had set in ; and the feeble, 
poorly nourished body had been unable to en- 
dure it. 

Mrs. Beardsley had sat up, anxiously awaiting 
Janet’s return. Somehow the memory of that 
afternoon’s visit to her poor neighbor, and the 
little fellow’s pathetic assertion that when he got 
big he would work and earn a dollar for her, if 
only he might play with Flossie, haunted her. 

“ Mrs. Mallery feels pretty hard toward you, I 
wouldn’t wonder,” remarked Janet, unable to resist 
the temptation to worry her mistress. 

“Dear me, Janet, what did she say?” asked 
Mrs. Beardsley, irritably. 

“ Oh, not much ! but the last thing the little 
boy tried to say, — I heard him myself, — was, ‘ I 
did n’t take the money, mammy, tell ’er.’ ” 

Ellen Beardsley could scarcely sleep that night ; 
and when she did, visions of a thin, freckled face, 
and a pleading voice asking if he might only play 
with Flossie a little while, disturbed her slumbers. 
But instead of praying for divine grace, and for 


Reginald '^s Duplicity 1 1 7 

a new heart, which, like the Master’s, could be 
touched with the feeling of the infirmities and 
grief of others, Ellen Beardsley began to excuse 
herself, and to magnify her own virtues. Such is 
ever the manner of selfishness, and nothing but 
the refining influences of the Holy Spirit can 
uproot it from the human heart. 

“ Of course,"” Mrs. Beardsley remarked to 
Grandmother Sharpe, the next morning, “ I can’t 
see how I am to be blamed for thinking the child 
took it ; anybody would have said the same.” 

“ But if you ’d only heard to me,” protested the 
old lady, “you wouldn’t have lost the money. I 
told you not to take it from the woman, — she 
might have handed it to Janet herself another day, 
— but you never will hear to me,” concluded grand- 
mother, who seemed to think herself the oracle of 
the household, and to believe that all the miseries 
beneath the skies, especially those in her daughter’s 
home, were caused by people’s not “ hearing ” to her. 

“ I guess I ’d go over, Ellen, seeing it ’s as ’t is,” 
remarked Grandpa Beardsley, mildly. The deacon 
seldom ventured to make a suggestion of any kind, 
but he said this with a peculiar earnestness which 
irritated Mrs. Beardsley. 


ii8 Making Home Peaceful 

‘‘Yes, I dare say you ’d go over. I don’t see 
what good I can do there. I ’ve got something else 
to do besides running to the neighbors every time 
anything happens.” Mrs. Beardsley had intended 
to go, but now she decides to ignore the whole 
miserable affair. 

“ Maybe grand’ther ’d better skip over,” re- 
marked Reginald, sneeringly. “ Say, grand’ther, 
don’t you think you might offer some consolation 
to the widow? Better hop on my bicycle, and 
ride over, and quote some Scripture to the old 
woman, eh ? come, you ’re pretty good at quoting 
Bible ; and that would give us a little let up. 
We ’re getting tired hearing it, but I dare say 
she ’d like it ; ” and with a rude laugh, the heart- 
less lad left the room. 

The old man sighed, and said, earnestly : 
“ ‘ Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest ; 
yea, he shall give delight unto thy soul ;’ ” but his 
misguided mother gave him not a word of reproof. 

Of course poor Flossie was inconsolable when 
she understood that little Tim was dead, and 
begged tearfully to be taken to see him. But Mrs. 
Beardsley again allowed her pride and self-will to 
triumph over every humane and kindly feeling ; so 


Reginald's Duplicity 


119 

Flossie had to content herself with climbing into 
grandpa’s arms, begging him to tell her, over and 
over, what they would do with Timmie, and if the 
angels would come and get him some day. 

“ Will they put him in the ground, grandpa?” 

‘‘Yes, darling, in the ground, — the cold, cold 
ground,” — repeated the old man, sadly. “There 
is where they put mother, and Emma, and little 
Jennie. Now don’t cry, dear, let grandpa rock his 
little girl to sleep.” 

But Flossie was not to be comforted. To her 
loving child^heart a bitter affliction had come ; 
and in her judgment a great calamity had befallen 
them. She lookeli out of the window at the huge, 
drifting masses of snow, and the tears fell faster 
and faster, as she shuddered, and said, wistfully : 
“Won’t Timmie be awful cold. Grandpa?” 

“No, Flossie, child. Tittle Timmie will never 
be cold or hungry — will never suffer any more.” 

“When will the angels come to get him? O 
grandpa,” and the tearful eyes brightened, “ I just 
believe when they come after Timmie, maybe 
they ’ll take Flossie. Flossie ’s so tired.” 

“Yes, dear, when the angels come to get your 
little friend, we will all go, if we ’re good,” 


an- 


120 Making Home Peaceful 

swered the old man, wondering if the child’s busy 
mother had ever taken time to instruct her little 
one in the blessed, simple truths of God’s book. 

It would seem that this experience, sad and 
touching as it was, ought to have taken some of 
the inherent selfishness out of Mrs. Beardsley’s 
heart. But after Tim’s funeral, which she conde- 
scendingly attended, she seemed to forget all her 
resolutions to exercise more of the sweet charity 
which Grandpa Beardsley had suggested to her a 
few days before, and which he so constantly rec- 
ommended by his own life. O, could her mortal 
eyes have scanned the book of the angel, as with 
unspeakable sadness he wrote the record of her 
life, she would have started back with cheeks 
white with horror. Mrs. Beardsley was a church- 
member, and actually believed herself an example 
of propriety in word and deed ; but she would have 
seen on those pages, in letters of gleaming fire : 

Weighed, and found wanting ! ” still the tender 
Shepherd did not give her up. Selfish and un- 
sympathetic as she had grown in years of pros- 
perity, still she is the purchase of his precious 
blood. And as the refiner casts his pot of silver 
into the fire, and melts and remelts it, so the Great 


Reginald'^s Duplicity 


I2I 


Refiner will not give her over until he has tested 
her in the furnace of affliction ; until his great 
purifying fires have swept over her soul, and con- 
sumed the selfishness, and purged away the dross. ' 

So may he never leave us, reader, — so may he 
purify our souls, until we can cry from the depths 
of our hearts, ‘‘ O Lord, search me and try me, and 
see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me 
in the way everlasting.’’ 


CHAPTER XI 


tom’s trials 

n AM anxious to know if Mr. Beardsley did 

dismiss that good boy, Tom Willis,” I hear 

somebody say. Certainly he did ; for he had prom- 
ised his wife to do so. But after the promise was 
made, James Beardsley felt very much as King 
Herod must have felt when, for his oath’s sake, he 
beheaded John the Baptist in the lonely prison. 

I am sorry, Tom,” said the merchant, the next 
Monday night after the promise had been made to 
his wife, “ more sorry than I can express ; but cir- 
cumstances are such that — well — the fact is, my 
boy,’' he continued, with increasing embarrassment, 
“I must tell you ‘good-by’ for good, to-night. 
Something very painful has happened ; but I hope 
you will believe that you have my fullest con- 
fidence, and very best wishes for success.” 

At the beginning of this little speech, Tom 
Willis dropped the scoop of sugar back into the 


122 


Toni's Trials 


123 


barrel, in astonishment, — he was waiting on the 
last customer before going home to supper, — and 
looked up at the speaker with a pitiful attempt 
to smile. 

“Yes, sir, I suppose, — 1 think, — I have rather 
been expecting it, sir,” he stammered ; “but still I 
had hoped it might not turn out so, after all. It 
is rather sudden, sir ; but I thank you for your 
confidence in me. It would add very much to the 
bitterness of this night, if I thought you distrusted 
me in the least.” 

“No, Tom, not a bit of it,”, said Mr. Beardsley, 
trying to speak cheerfully ; “ you have been a 
good boy ever since you Ve been with me, — about 
five years, now, isn’t it?” 

“ Yes, sir ; ever since mother died. I ’ve tried 
to be faithful, and to make your interests mine, 
but ” 

“Yes, Tom, I know you have; but the fact is, 
that missing money of the hired girl’s turned up 
the other day, and the lad’s mother thinks you 
told an untruth about him, and I can’t persuade 
her differently.” 

“ Yon are kind to try, sir, but you need not 
have done so ; I am sure it is useless. But I 


124 Making Hojne Peaceful 

trust God will make it all right some day, and I 
can wait.” 

“ I presume you can get a job over at Mosely’s 
after a little. I heard he needed a clerk, and I’ll 
speak a word for you.” 

“Thank you, sir,” replied Tom. But it was 
with a sinking heart that he opened the little front 
gate that lonely night, wondering what Maggie 
would say — poor Maggie. 

Tom had been brother, father, and mother — 
three in one — to his delicate sister, who was four 
years younger than he, ever since the death of 
their mother. 

“ Well, Tommie, hurry up ! I ’ve just outdone 
myself in generosity, and kept a nice piece of 
that shortcake you liked so well at dinner, in the 
warming-oven for you, why, what’s the mat- 

ter, Tommie ? Something ’s happened. What is 
it, brother?” 

“ O, nothing, Maggie,” replied Tom, feigning a 
carelessness, for his sister’s sake, which he did not 

feel. “Nothing — only ” and then followed 

the whole miserable story. 

“ I was afraid of this when I told Mr. Beards- 
ley,” he explained. “ But I could not endure to 


Tain's Trials 


125 


have little Tim Mallery bear the blame ; and now 
that the poor child is dead, I should never have 
forgiven myself if I had refused to tell what I 
heard, and I knew you ’d want me to do it ; for 
you always say, just as mother used to : ‘ Do right, 
Tom, and never mind the consequences.’ I’d 
have told you before, only I could n’t bear to 
worry you over what might never happen.” 

The thin cheek of the slender-looking girl by 
his side grew white, but there was a brave ring 
in her voice as she answered : ‘‘You did right, 
brother ; I ’m sure mother would have approved ; 
I — I always test hard questions by that standard. 
You ’ll be sure to find work, Tommie. I know 
God will never let us suffer because you did what 
you thought right. Come now, while you eat 
your supper, let ’s talk it all over, and see if we 
can’t make up our minds what can be done. Har- 
risburg is quite a large place, and I believe you’ll 
find something to do, if we both only keep well,’’ 
and she tenderly kissed the broad, white brow, 
from which the shadows were already retreating. 

Before they slept, they had formulated their 
plans so nicely that they felt sure fortune would 
smile on them ; and as Tom crept into bed that 


126 


Making Home Peaceful 


night, after saying his prayers, in which thanks- 
giving and gratitude had a large place, he felt far 
more hopeful than he had at first thought it pos- 
sible to feel. 

Maggie ’s such an inspiration ! ” he said to 
himself. ‘‘ God bless her. I hope she’ll not get 
sick ; but the dear girl is so slender. Someway I 
feel as if everything would turn out right. Still 
I wish I had a little more money saved up ; but 
with Maggie’s doctor bills, and my small wages, 
it’s been hard to save much. I think Mr. Beards- 
ley would have paid me more this spring if I had 
stayed ; but — it will be all right I ’m sure ; ” which 
conclusion was but the natural product of youth- 
ful spirits, good health, and a clear conscience. 
But could the brave young heart have felt that 
night half the sorrows it was destined to feel 
before many weeks, it would have been a sore 
trial to the faith which now seemed so firm. But 
he was trusting in God, and it is written that they 
who trust in him shall be as ‘‘ Mount Zion, which 
can never be removed, but abideth forever.” 

We will not attempt to follow our young hero 
through the weary days of disappointment and 
weeks of trial which ensued after his dismissal. 


Tom's Trials 


127 


More than once he had almost regretted telling 
Mr. Beardsley who had taken the servant girPs 
money. What was it to him, anyway ? Why need 
he to have cared so much, even if the blame was 
laid on an innocent child, he sometimes reasoned. 
Then he remembered that God’s word was pledged 
that he would protect and care for those who 
make him their refuge ; and his heart would once 
more be filled with that sweet peace that passeth 
understanding. 

The next day after leaving the employ of Mr. 
Beardsley, Tom visited the office of Mr. Mosely, 
as his late employer had suggested, only to find 
that the vacant place had been filled the week 
previous. Disappointed, though not discouraged, 
he called on many of his acquaintances, men who 
had always given him a kind word and a pleasant 
smile, hoping that some vacant place would offer 
itself. But poor Tom soon learned the lesson, 
which is always so hard to learn, and which each 
must learn for himself, that it is one thing to find 
an apparent friend in days of prosperity, when 
skies are sunny, and sweet flowers of hope and 
cheer are blooming in our path, and quite another 
to find that true friendship that is indeed “ born 


128 


Making Home Peaceful 


for adversity,” and which “ loveth at all times.” 
Indeed, he was quite at a loss to understand the 
averted looks and the cool answers that he so 
often received from some who had heretofore pro- 
fessed themselves his friends. But the mystery 
was clear enough ‘‘ after many days,” when he 
found that the cruel tongue of slander had not 
been silent, and that cunning falsehood had forged 
her subtle chain of hypocrisy and deceit, link 
after link, until every helpful avenue had been 
hedged up. For Reginald Beardsley had not 
been satisfied with the obnoxious clerk’s dismissal, 
but he had been careful to set sundry mysterious 
stories afloat concerning him, and the reason of 
his leaving Mr. Beardsley’s employ. 

The weeks passed slowly by, and lengthened 
into months. Finally, one afternoon in early 
spring, the pitiless tramp, tramp, for employment 
had come to an end. The hand that the weary 
boy laid upon the latch of the little front gate, as 
he came home that evening, trembled with ex- 
haustion, and the brow that his devoted sister ten- 
derly and tearfully bathed was hot and burning 
with fever. 

Mr. Beardsley had proved himself a friend all 


Tom's Trials 


129 


through the weary days, and had been the means 
of Tom’s securing the little work he had found, — 
just enough to keep them from absolute want, — 
and Maggie’s health had been much better than 
for a long time ; so they were just beginning to 
hope that with the coming of spring, brighter days 
would be in store for them. 

But now Tom threw himself upon his bed, and 
in utter loneliness and discouragement, gave way 
for the first time to bitter tears. What to him was 
the coming of beautiful spring ? What to him 
were the songs of birds and the sweet-scented 
flowers? Weary, discouraged, sick, a burden to 
his delicate sister, a burden to himself. Thus the 
weary days passed slowly away. 

James Beardsley heard, with a sad heart, of his 
young friend’s illness, and many little dainties 
found their way to the sick-room. But if he hoped 
that his wife’s hard spirit would soften toward the 
young man, whom he felt sure she had deeply 
wronged, he was doomed to disappointment. Ellen 
Beardsley only shrugged her shoulders, and re- 
marked that she did n’t know as she was to be 
blamed because Tom Willis had been taken sick. 
She had considered him a deceitful, canting hypo- 
9 


130 Making Home Peaceful 

crite, — so she considered him still. And she had 
concluded her remarks by saying that she certainly 
did not think herself indebted to him after the 
manner in which he had treated her son. 

So deceitful, so unfair, so unchristlike is sel- 
fishness. Woe to that human heart in which it 
takes up its abode. Woe to the life that is affected 
by its accursed influence. It palsies the hand of 
charity, and silences the tongue of kindness. It 
closes the eye of pity, and dries up the springs of 
tenderness and love in the heart where its baneful 
presence is found. Shall we cherish it — you and 
I ? Shall we bid it welcome to our hearts ? Shall 
we permit its blighting shadow to fall across our 
paths to darken our own lives, and to blast the 
lives of others ? Or shall we bid its hateful pres- 
ence begone, and so fill our hearts with the sweet 
influence of the blessed Spirit, whose fruits are 
love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, and 
goodness, that there shall remain no room in 
which the throne of selfishness can be set up, 
and no foothold for its vile presence? 


CHAPTER XII 


grandpa’s death 

j|lTH the coming of the sultry days of summer, 
it was evident to James Beardsley that his 
father was surely failing. No one else seemed to 
have either the time or the inclination to note the 
trembling step, and the pale, worn face of the old 
man. When, indeed, he mentioned one morning 
that ‘‘ father looked as if he had had a poor night 
of it,” Grandmother Sharpe remarked quickly that 
she had n’t rested either, and she guessed other 
folks felt about as well as she did. It really seemed 
as if the poor old woman was cultivating the 
weeds in the garden of her heart, with more and 
greater success every day. Ah, how true it is that 
if we would make our gray hairs a crown of glory 
when age settles down upon us and throws its 
hoary mantle over us, we must see to it that we are 
found in the path of righteousness. 

There was a wonderful contrast between these 


132 


Making Home Peaceful 


aged people. The old deacon, with his kindly, 
dim eyes, and white hair, with his form bent, and 
his step tottering, had yet a voice as soft and 
gentle as a little child’s, and a laugh as hearty 
as a boy’s. A beautiful old man was he ; for there 
is no beautifier like the peace of Christ. Grand- 
mother Sharpe was tall, 
and straight' as an arrow, 
and her gaunt figure 
seemed to grow more an- 
gular every day, and her 
voice to acquire an added 
degree of shrillness. There 
were two perpendicular 
lines between the straight 
brow, — lines plowed deep, 
more by the fingers of ill- 

Grandmother Sharpe 

of time, — which gave an additional fierceness to 
the small, deeply sunken, black eyes. Accustomed 
for years to speaking words of bitterness and jeal- 
ousy, at last, perhaps as much from habit as any- 
thing else, they fell naturally from her lips, like 
sharp arrows, and, as the wise man says, like ‘‘a 
continual dropping in a very rainy day.” The 



Grandpa's Death 


133 


sweet language of kindness and love was to her an 
unknown tongue. 

Ah, how many Grandmother Sharpes are there 
in the world, and alas ! in the church as well. 
Did you never meet one of them ? Did you never 
form the acquaintance of one of these unhappy 
people ? Let us be kind 
to them ; for God knows 
they are to be pitied, 
but they are not all old 
women ; indeed, there 
are some of them who 
are still young, but upon 
their brows little fur- 
rows have been plowed 

by another than the 
^ p Grandpa Beardsley 

hnger of time ; tor ill- 

temper is no respecter of persons ; she writes her 
ugly autograph upon the brow of youth and the 
cheek of beauty. O, there are so many Grand- 
mother Sharpes ! Perhaps there is one living 
under your own roof, aye, more, it 77iay be if you 
and I look closely into our own hearts, we may 
see her likeness there. 

But, thank God, if there are Grandmother 



134 


Making Home Peaceful 


Sharpes, the world is not left without a few 
Grandpa Beardsleys in it. There are some upon 
whose shoulders the passing years rest lightly, and 
upon whose faces the finger of time leaves only a 
kindly imprint, whose silver hairs rest upon the 
noble head like a halo of glory, and through 
whose heart the peace of God flows like a river; 
whose saintly presence seems a benediction, and 
whose words, always fitly spoken, are indeed ‘‘ like 
apples of gold in pictures of silver.” This is the 
sanctifying effect of years of ‘‘walking with God.” 

One sultry morning in August, Grandpa Beards- 
ley did not get up to breakfast. Janet said he had 
called to her as she was passing through the hall, 
and told her that he was so weak he was afraid to 
try to go down-stairs. “ If you will bring me a 
thin brown slice of that nice toast of yours, Janet, 
I think I can eat it,” he had said, in a voice so 
weak and altered that the girl was startled, and 
hastened to tell her mistress. 

“Dear me ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Beardsley, with an 
impatient frown. “ Mercy knows I Ve got enough 
to do to-day, and enough for you to do, too, Janet, 
without bothering with him. It ’s queer, just be- 
cause the minister and his wife are coming to tea, 


Grandpa's Death 


135 


and I ’ve got this great ironing on my hands, that 
I have to be hindered just now. I declare it is 
positively annoying. I wish, James, you would go 
up and see if you can’t get him down-stairs to break- 
fast. Tell him Janet has no time to fuss with 
making extra dishes,” she continued, carelessly. 

Ellen Beardsley was not as heartless a woman as 
she seemed ; but her better nature had become so 
warped by selfishness that she did not herself 
realize how her cruel words rankled and burned in 
the heart of her husband, who replied, indignantly: 
‘‘ I shall tell him nothing of the kind, Ellen ; I 
intend that my fathor shall receive attention when 
he is ill ; if Janet cannot prepare him a slice of 
toast, I will do so myself.” 

It was very seldom that James Beardsley ex- 
pressed himself so forcibly to his wife, and she was 
quite stunned for the instant ; after standing a 
moment, with brows elevated in astonishment, she 
called after her husband as he was climbing the 
stairs: ‘‘Of course Janet can make the toast; 
wait, Jimmie!” while she added to herself: “I 
can’t say the least little thing but he ’s getting so 
he takes it so hard, — I wonder what ’s the matter 
with him.” 


136 


Making Home Peaceful 


What, indeed ! ah, what will so gall and wear 
a tender, loving heart, as the perpetual nagging, 
grumbling tones of those to whom we have given 
our love, for whom we labor, for whom we sacrifice, 
and for whom, indeed, we live ! 

“I’m so glad you came up, Jimmie ! ” exclaimed 
the deacon, in a weak voice. “ I ’ve wanted to see 
you alone for a long time,” grasping the hand of 
his son, and eagerly pulling him down to a seat on 
the bedside. 

“ What can I do for you, father? I hope you ’re 
not suffering. We have another sultry day be- 
fore us.” 

“Suffering? O, no, — just weak, so weak; but 
you know, Jimmie, I ’ve lived out my threescore 
years and ten, long ago ; and by reason of strength 
I have even gone beyond the fourscore, — but I ’m 
getting to feel that my strength is labor and 
sorrow.” 

“ I can’t bear to hear it, father ; see, Janet has 
brought your breakfast, you ’ll feel stronger when 
you ’ve eaten.” 

“I was just going to say to you, my son,” con- 
tinued the old man when they were again alone, 
“that I am sure I shall not be with you long. 


Grandpa's Death 


137 


Don’t be sad ; ’t is better so. I am only sorry that 
I have been so nearly helpless for so long, and that 
I have caused Ellen worry and trouble by my 
blindness. But old age will come, Jimmie ; it 
will come.” 

“ I am sorry that our home has not been a more 
congenial place for you, father ; I have felt this a 
long time, but I seem to be powerless.” 

‘‘ I know how it is, Jimmie ; you have done your 
best to make it agreeable for me ; but, O my son, 
I may never have another opportunity of talking 
to you. My heart acted strangely all night, and I 
feel that the end is near ; but I should not die easy 
if I did not entreat you to lose no time in erecting 
the family altar, — the altar of the Lord, which has 
so long been broken down.” 

By this time the strong man was weeping si- 
lently ; the gentle, melting Spirit of the Lord was 
softening his heart. 

“I remember the time when I was converted all 
over again — mother and I. You and Jennie were 
young then, but I dare say you remember it. I 
was n’t doing right in my family ; and now you ’re 
not doing right in yours. O my son, do let the 
Master make you all over again. He ’ll make it 


138 Making Home Peaceful 

easy for you to serve him. He ’ll carry you 
and your burden, too, — and — and you ’ve got a 
heavy one, Jimmie. Yes,” he continued, prophet^ 
ically, “ the boy Reginald will give you much 
trouble ; but God is mighty, and I trust the end 
will be peace.” Then clasping the thin hands 
reverently, and raising the dim eyes to heaven, the 
soft, trembling voice slowly repeated : ‘‘ ‘ Thou 

shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward 
receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but 
thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire 
beside thee. My flesh and my heart faileth ; but 
God is the strength of my heart, and my portion 
forever.’ ” 

God bless you, father ; and God give you rest ! ” 
said James Beardsley, earnestly. “ Your talk has 
done me good, but I would better go now. I fear 
you are tiring yourself.” 

‘‘Wait a little; not yet — don’t leave me yet. 
I must have you a little longer by me, Jimmie. I 
am thinking of Paul. I wish you would get his 
last letter, — it is there on the table, — and read it 
to me once more. Paul and Jimmie, Paul and 
Jimmie,” repeated the old man, tenderly, “ that ’s 
all I ’ve got left now.” 


Grandpa' s Death 


139 


With trembling voice the letter was read from 
the loved and absent son and brother, long a sol- 
dier of the cross in far-distant .India. The old 
deacon listened eagerly. These were the closing 
words : “ Father ’s an old man, brother ; and I 

greatly fear I shall not see him again in this life. 
I feel that you are specially blessed in having him 
with you ; his presence is a continual benediction. 
But don’t forget, Jimmie, you ’ll not have him 
with you long. But the King is coming by and 
by, and we ’ll all meet pretty soon, my brother, — 
my dear, dear father, and mother, and Emma, and 
brown-eyed Jennie, if we ’re only faithful over a 
few things.” 

“ That sounds good, Jimmie ; G that sounds 
good ! Now you may go,* but promise me first, 
Jimmie, that you ’ll not forget about the family 
altar when I ’m gone, — and — about Reginald, 
God will sustain you, my son, — but O, I entreat 
you, redeem the past as far as in you lies.” 

‘‘ By God’s help, father, I will try,” was the 

« 

trembling answer. 

Just then a shrill voice came ringing up from 
the foot of the stairs : ‘‘ Your breakfast is spoiling, 

James ; do you forget that I am in a hurry ? ” 


140 Making Home Peaceful 

James Beardsley closed his lips to the indignant 
reply that almost forced itself from them. But 
when he saw the flushed, weary look on the face 
of his wife, as she bent over the hot stove, his only 
feeling was one of pity and love. Poor Ellen ! 
Was this nervous, anxious, worried-looking woman, 
indeed the wife of his youth, — the dear, spirited, 
brilliant girl that had won his heart ? Ah ! how 
many years ago it seemed, — years full of the hurry 
and worry of life. How well he remembered when 
the baby came — a sweet, cunning, black-eyed fel- 
low — little Reginald. How they had laughed 
over his cute baby pranks ! How they had petted 
him, and coddled him, and fondled him ! Alas, he 
saw it all now. That imperious will developed in 
early infancy had grown stronger every day, until 
it would not brook restraint. Then every year 
had brought new cares, new responsibilities, until 
the busy merchant had grown careless and worldly. 
God’s word had been neglected, and the family 
altar had been broken down. Like Eli, he h^d 
not restrained his son, and now he must reap what 
he had sown. The lad had not returned home till 
long after midnight the previous night, and this 
conduct was getting to be so common as to excite 


Grandpa' s Death 


141 

no comment. At first he had remonstrated with 
the boy ; but his mother could not endure that he 
be reproved or corrected any more for this than foi 
his other bad habits, and always concluded every 
such effort on his part with, ‘‘ Let the boy alone, 
James, you will drive him to destruction by your 
severity.” 

James Beardsley thought it all over, and as 
never before the Holy Spirit showed him his boy’s 
danger, — aye, the Spirit opened his eyes to his 
own danger as well. He saw his godly and be- 
loved father slipping away from him. O, that he 
had better heeded his instructions and warnings in 
the past ! now he resolved, in God’s name, that 
he would live differently, — that he would redeem 
the past. And as his father had done on that Sab- 
bath day so many years ago, but which was so well 
remembered as the beginning of a new life to them 
all, he, too, sought a secluded place, and there, on 
his knees, with streaming eyes turned toward 
heaven, the busy merchant, the man of cares, made 
a covenant with his God. 

^ Grandpa Beardsley was so much better by noon 
that he felt able to come down-stairs for dinner. 
His daughter-in-law looked weary and dispirited,. 


142 


Making Home Peaceful 


but a long line of nicely ironed clothes bore wit- 
ness to her skill, and there was an array of luscious 
tarts and cakes and dainties on the shelves, waiting 
to tempt the appetite of the minister and his wife 
that afternoon. 

Flossie’s delight knew no bounds, because 
Grandpa was able to be up and dressed, though he 
was not strong enough to hold her in his arms. 

After washing the dishes, Janet had undertaken 
the task of bathing and dressing baby Bessie. But 
as Bessie was uncommonly headstrong that par- 
ticular afternoon, and had an unusual aversion to 
being bathed and combed, the minister. Elder 
Maynard, and his wife were announced before that 
tiny lady’s toilet was made. 

Mrs. Beardsley was particularly anxious for the 
child to “ show off” well that afternoon, remember- 
ing that the minister had preached the previous 
Sabbath on the duty of parents toward their 
children. So she had been trying all the week to 
teach Bessie a few Bible stories, hoping to impress 
the minister as being a model mother. With what 
success we shall presently see. 

As soon as the child heard voices in the parlor, 
she immediately decided that it was time for her 


Grandpa' s Death 


143 


to set out upon a tour of inspection and investi- 
gation ; so, while Janet was busy preparing the 
bath for her, a half-dressed, begrimmed, unkempt 
little object presented herself before the horrified 
mother and her amused guests, and before she 
could be prevented, had seized hold of the front 
breadth of Mrs. Maynard’s delicate white dress, 
with two dirty and sweaty little hands. In vain 
the embarrassed mother assured her wayward in- 
fant that the “ bogy man ” would catch her, and 
that Janet would ‘‘ surely cut Bessie’s ears off ; ” 
she could not be induced to reliilquish her grasp of 
the dress, until the grimy little fingers were forced 
open, and she was dragged from the room, kicking 
and screaming : “ Bessie ivill see the pitty lady ! 

Bessie wonH have nasty baf ! ” Mrs. Beardsley 
could have cried with shame and vexation. 

As the angry screams resounded through the 
house, Orandpa Beardsley quietly remarked from 
his corner in the sitting-room : ‘‘ ‘ A child left to 

himself bringeth his mother to shame.’ ” 

It was some time before quietness was restored. 
But Mrs. Beardsley was determined to undo the 
bad impression Bessie had made; and so when at 
last in a clean frock and shining curls, she again 


144 


Making Home Peaceful 


made her appearance, the foolish mother at once 
turned the conversation upon her : Why ! here 
comes mother’s baby ! how sweet her little curls 
look, don’t they? Can mother’s darling tell the 
lady who made her?” 

“ No, no ! ” screamed the little miss! “ No, no 1 ” 

‘‘What?” turning to the minister, with a wor- 
ried expression upon her face, “ she can’t have 
forgotten, can she ? ” 

“ I have no doubt she has,” remarked that gen- 
tleman, soothingly. 

“ Of course she is only a babe yet, but really 
she does know lots of things, — don’t you, dear? 
Can’t you count ten for the gentleman ? come, do, 
now ; there ’s a darling.” 

“ One, two, sree ! ” announced the precocious 
infant, when she suddenly remembered that she 
was always accustomed to being “ hired ” to per- 
form such unusual and astonishing feats. 

“ Candy ! ” demanded the shrill little voice. 

“Yes, yes, dear ; but count ten for the lady, 
first, and then mama’ll surely give Bessie her 
candy.” 

“No, no!” protested the child. “Me wants 
candy ! ” 


Grandpa^ s Death 


145 


Janet ! ” called the indulgent mother, fearing a 
scene, ‘‘ bring the dear child some candy. There, 
dear ; now won't you count ten for mama ? ” 

It did not take baby Bessie long to decide that 
she was being ‘‘ shown off,” and she determined to 
make the most of it. Bessie will sing Dixie ! ” 
which announcement was followed by a shrill 
medley of unintelligible sounds which was surely 
‘Dnusic ” in nobody’s ears but the delighted 
mother's. 

‘‘ Now, Bessie will play cars ! ” declared the 
inventive little genius, apparently determining to 
leave nothing undone on her part for the amuse- 
ment of the guests. And indeed Mrs. Beardsley 
had seemingly no other resource at hand for the 
afternoon’s entertainment, at least this was all 
that appeared to offer itself. Two or three times. 
Mrs. Maynard had undertaken to introduce the 
subject of home missions ; but this had proved 
to be only a futile attempt, being cut short by 
some unlooked-for antic from the child, to which^ 
of course, prompt attention was at once called by 
the unwise mother. After a time, however. Elder 
Maynard, determining not to be baffled, again 
ventured a remark concerning the needs of the 


10 


146 


Making Home Peaceful 


Master’s cause in far-away -India, hoping that as 
Sister Beardsley’s brother-in-law was laboring in 
that field, perhaps he could engage her attention. 
Vain hope ! Her only reply was, “ Certainly,” 
with an absent look ; and then she hastily added : 
“Janet, do put a clean bib on the dear child. 
See how she has soiled this with her candy.” 

All this time Flossie was arranging her pieces 
quietly in her little chair, and troubling no one. 

At the supper table, Bessie was still the theme 
of her mother’s conversation, and it was with a 
sigh of genuine relief that Elder Maynard and his 
wife concluded their afternoon’s visit, and bade 
their host and hostess good night. 

Reginald had not come in to his supper, his 
fond mother having been unable to induce him 
to do so, as he declared he didn’t want to see 
the preacher. 

After the guests had departed. Grandpa Beards- 
ley’^ feeble voice was heard at the head of the 
stairs : “ Reginald, would you mind coming up 
to tny room awhile, I’d like to have a little talk 
with you ?” 

“ I don’t see what you want, grand ’ther. I 
have fi’t had my supper yet, — want to preach to 


Grandpa's Death 


147 


me, most likely. I don’t care to hear it ; I hear 
enough of that down-stairs.” 

Ah, my boy, you will live to regret those cruel 
words ; but bitter tears can never undo the past. 

With a quiet sigh, that was almost a sob, the 
trembling voice continued, ‘‘ Good night, little 
Flossie, I guess grandpa ’ll go to bed now.” 

James Beardsley had heard Reginald’s cruel 
words, and a throb of anguish unspeakable thrilled 
his heart. ‘‘ My son,” he said, in a voice quiver- 
ing with emotion, “ I trust I shall never hear you 
speak to your grandfather again in so unmanly and 
disrespectful a manner.” 

‘‘ I don’t know as I can blame him, James,” 
hastily replied Mrs. Beardsley ; ‘‘of course he 
doesn’t like to be preached at all the while.” 

In humiliation too deep for expression, her hus- 
band listened to her repl}^, while a feeling surged 
over him not unlike that which one has who finds 
himself caught in a current too strong for him, 
from which, struggle as he may, he can not ex- 
tricate himself. 

An hour later James Beardsley stepped upstairs, 
and opened the door of his father’s room. The old 
man sat facing the large west window, in his old- 


148 Making Home Peaceful 

fashioned, high-backed rocker. The setting sun 
threw a halo of light around the snowy head, and 
a solemn, sacred hush pervaded the room. What 
is it that causes the strong man’s heart to grow 
faint, and his limbs to tremble as with palsy? 

“ Father ! ” There is no reply. The thin face 
is a trifle paler than usual, but a smile of infinite 
peace has settled upon it. The dear hands are 
clasped as if in prayer. Hush ! break not the 
sacred stillness. Grandpa Beardsley sleeps the 
peaceful sleep that knows no waking till Gabriel’s 
trump shall rend the dusty tombs, and the “ dead 
in Christ shall rise.” 

James Beardsley buried his dead, with many 
tears, in the old cemetery at Jonesville, close 
beside mother and ‘‘little Jennie.” 

Ah, there is no time when the human heart 
So gropes in the gloom of night, 

As the time when we turn from our dead apart, 

And cover them up from sight. 

And there is no time when our hearts so call 
For the deathless home above, 

As the day when the clods of the valley fall 
O’er the grave of the one we love. 



149 








CHAPTER XIll 


TOM AND MAGGIE 

S IND reader, come with me to the little home 
of Tom Willis and his sister. It is a beauti- 
ful day in late September, — one of those delicious, 
dreamy days when it seems happiness unspeakable 
just to live. The air is laden with sunshine, and 
the gorgeous leaves of the old maples by the front 
gate quiver and tremble in the soft breeze, as if for 
very joy. 

The front door of the little cottage is open, and 
a fair young girl is sitting by the window. There 
are traces of tears on her pale cheeks, and her eyes 
are dim with weeping. Steps sound on the gravel 
walk. Some one is coming through the gate. 

‘‘ O Tom ! is that you ? The grocer sent his bill 
over, and it’s a little higher than I expected. 
But see ! I’m cheering up already, Tom ; ” and 
she smiled, — a pitiful little smile it was. ‘‘Any 
good news, brother?” 


152 


Making Home Peaceful 


Well, Maggie, I got a few hours’ work this 
afternoon over at Tupper’s grocery doing some 
boxing ; I brought you this basket of peaches, — 
beauties, aren’t they?” said Tom, displaying the 
tiny basket of choice fruit, for which he had just 
paid his last quarter, hoping to tempt his sister’s 
appetite with the unaccustomed dainty. 

‘‘ O Tom, how good of you ! but really, brother, 
we can’t afford peaches. Just think, peaches! we 
have n’t had one this year ! Well, I’ll banish the 
blues, and we’ll have one good meal anyway.” 

‘‘ That’s a dear little sister ! Do you know, 
Maggie, I’m afraid we have been distrusting God 
for a while back ! We ’ve been so gloomy.” 

‘‘ Yes, Tom, but what are we going to do? The 
last dollar of our savings was gone last week, and 
your doctor’s bill is ’nt half paid yet ; and the gro- 
cery bill is due, and the rent, — and really, Tom, 
your old coat is getting to look too shabby to wear 
to church.” 

‘‘Yes, Maggie, but God knows all about it as 
well as we do ; he says he does It ’s a great com- 
fort to me to read, ‘ For your Heavenly Father 
knoweth that ye have need of all these things.’ 
We ’re trying to do right — you and I — and I 



A Fair Young Girl is Sitting by the Window 


153 






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Tom a7td Maggie 


155 


feel more than I ever did in my life, Maggie, that 
God will and does hear our prayers. And even if 
we are destitute, it is not at all pleasing to him for 
us to distrust his kindness or his care. 

“ By the way, I saw Reginald Beardsley to-day. 
He was hanging around Reddy’s saloon, with Will 
Green and Harry Coleman. O, if I could only do 
something to save him ! ” 

O Tom ! I believe you ’ll be a missionary yet. 
I declare you make me ashamed of my own selfish- 
ness. Do you know, sometimes when I think how 
much that boy has done to cause us trouble, I just 
feel wicked, — I do, Tom, I truly do, — and here 
you ’re longing to do something to help him.” 

“ Well, never mind, little sister ; you ’d be as 
willing to help him as anybody, if you saw him in 
trouble. Let me tell you what I ’ve been thinking 
for a long time. I ’ve about decided to write to 
Uncle Ben, out in Dakota ; you know he keeps 
a small grocery, and I ’ve been wondering if he 
would ’nt give me a job. Of course he ’s poor, and 
I would n’t get very high wages, but it would be 
better than nothing.” 

‘‘ O Tom ! leave me and go away out there ! 
Away out to Dakota? O Tom ! ” 


156 Making Home Peaceful 

“ I know, Maggie, but you could come after a 
while. I hate to leave you, but maybe you might 
stay with Mrs. Hill till I could send for you. I 
don \ feel very strong, someway, since that fever 
last spring, and it tires me more than I can tell 
you to run all around town after stray jobs, and 
then not get enough to do to earn half what you 
and I need to eat.” 

“ I know it, Tom ; maybe it would be best ; but 
I can’t help thinking about Aunt Linda. I don’t 
see what good she thinks all her money will do 
her by and by, — she can’t take it with her to the 
grave. O brother ! if only the Lord would open 
Aunt Linda’s heart ! ” 

No wonder Maggie thought about Aunt Linda. 
She was her mother’s only sister. Rich and pros- 
perous, she had given small thought to her dead 
sister’s struggling son and daughter, from whom 
she had scarcely heard in years. There had been 
a bitter quarrel when Mrs. Willis had married the 
handsome young man who inherited little from his 
father save a legacy of debt and a thirst for strong 
drink, which the poor fellow feebly fought at first, 
only to yield passively before many months. 

It is not at all to be wondered at that Maggie 


Tom a7td Maggie 


157 


often thought, during those days of darkness, of 
her aunt, and wondered vaguely why Aunt Linda 
could not be converted. 

Listen, Maggie, listen to the words of the tender 
Shepherd of Israel ; he is speaking to you even as 
he did to the faithless, trembling disciple of old : 
‘‘ O thou of little faith, wherefore dost thou doubt ? ” 

Yes, my reader, he is speaking to yon and me in 
tones of tenderness and love. Is the way dark? 
does it seem that heaven is a long way off ? Do 
you feel that you are in immediate need of help ? 
Have you reached some crisis in your life, where it 
seems as impossible to go forward as it did to the 
trembling hosts of Israel — mountains on either 
side, the black waters before, the cruel enemy be- 
hind? “Go forward!” thunders the great Cap- 
tain. But even as you go, behold the waters fall 
back ; the clouds are lifted ; light shines. “ When 
thou passeth through the waters, I will be with 
thee ; and through the rivers, they shall not over- 
flow thee : when thou walkest through the Are, 
thou shalt not be burned ; neither shall the flame 
kindle upon thee.” 

It was Anally decided that the letter should be 
written to Uncle Ben ; though when the brother 


158 Makmg Home Peaceful 

and sister bowed that evening in prayer, Maggie’s 
thoughts would, somehow, turn to Aunt Linda. 
At last she fell asleep, with the words Tom had 
read from his Bible ringing in her ears : ‘‘ Fear ye 
not, therefore, ye are of more value than many 
sparrows.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


AUNT UINDA’S letter 

n OM sat at his little desk the next morning, 

pen, ink, and paper beside him. He was 

just beginning a letter to Uncle Ben. 

“ O Tom ! ” interrupted his sister ; “I had such a 
happy dream last night ; I thought I was trying to 
cross a deep river in a little boat. The river 
seemed so wild ; and the waves, higher than my 
head, were just ready to come down upon me. I 
thought I could never reach the other shore, when 
there seemed to stand by me a beautiful woman, 
with wings of light. I thought she took her seat 
in my boat, smiled lovingly upon me, and with 
three or four strokes of her oar, landed me safely 
on the other side.” 

‘‘ Why, Maggie, that does a fellow good to hear. 
It makes me think of the time Christ came and 
joined himself to the disciples’ boat in the midst of 
the tempest, and immediately it was at the land.” 

159 


i6o Making Home Peaceful 

‘‘Yes, but see, Tom ; I didn’t finish telling you* 
Is n’t it queer ? I dreamed that as soon as I was 
safe on the shore, lo and behold, the lovely woman 
with the white wings was Aunt Linda. When I 
went to thank her, I awoke.” 

“ That ’s a very good dream, little sister ; now, 
dear, keep real still, so I can finish my letter. 
Wait, there comes the postman. Just step to the 
gate, will you, and get the paper?” 

“ Tom Willis, .see here ! ” exclaimed Maggie, 
hurrying up the steps, with more eagerness and 
enthusiasm in her manner than her brother had 
seen for many months. ‘‘ Look quick ! I just do 
believe we ’ve got a letter from Aunt Linda ! Any- 
way, it ’s postmarked ‘ Miles’ Creek.’ ” 

“ I declare you ’re right, I do believe. Hurry 
up, Maggie ! How you tremble ! There ! you ’d 
better let me read it for you.” And this is what 
Tom read : — 

My Dear Niece and Nephew : I can imagine your sur- 
prise as you open this letter. Wonderful are the ways of the 
Lord. All things are possible with him. Perhaps you were 
too young to remember the story of the foolish quarrel between 
your mother and me. I shall not need to repeat it. But God 
has opened my eyes, and I can only praise him. Three months, 
ago the little boy died, — I always think of him as a little boy,. 


Aimt Linda^s Letter i6i 

though he was nearly fifteen, — whom we adopted when he was 
but a baby, and who was to us as our own son. Now the great 
house seems so empty ! I have been wondering if you — Mag- 
gie and Tom — would be content to come and live with Uncle 
Walter and me, and help make our home peaceful and happy. 
I remember you both before your dear mother died. But in 
my blind selfishness, I did not love and care for the lonely 
children of my poor sister as I should. I must tell you that 
your Uncle Walter is anxious for you to take this offer kindly ; 
and as Tom has had some experience as a clerk, I am sure he 
can make himself useful to his uncle. I hope you will forgive 
my past selfishness, even as I believe God has, and write very 
soon to your affectionate — 

Aunt Linda. 

Tom was the first to speak, after the letter had 
been read. Maggie was silently weeping. ‘‘ Well, 
little girl,” he said, with a suspicious huskiness in 
his voice, ‘‘ when do you think you and I will 
learn to trust? Providential, is^i't it, sister? Now 
I guess I ’ll write to Aunt Linda instead of to 
Uncle Ben. Didn’t I tell you, Maggie, we were 
doing wrong to worry so ? ” 

O Tom ! to think that we can go together, and 
need not be separated, after all ! You can ’t think 
how I dreaded it, — and besides, maybe Uncle Ben 
wouldn’t have needed you. This is better even 
than to have kept on working for Mr. Beardsley. 
O Tom ! ” 


II 


i 62 


Making Home Peaceful 


Better? Yes. The Lord’s ways are always 
better than ours — so much better. He is able to 
do exceeding abundantly above that we can ask or 
even think. And yet, like Tom and Maggie, we 
sometimes forget whose are the Almighty Hands 
that are holding the reins, and guiding us onward 
over the uneven path of life, with more than an 
earthly father’s tender care and solicitude. Then, 
when affairs all at once shape themselves won- 
drously, and we are delivered from some sorrow 
which has threatened to overwhelm us, some 
trouble which has seemed ready to swallow us up, 
we remember that there is a God in Israel, and in 
shame and humiliation of heart we lay our hand 
upon our lips, in silence over our unbelief. 

So it came to pass that one dull, cloudy day in 
October, less than a month after the receipt of 
Aunt Linda’s letter, Tom Willis and his sister 
found themselves in the station at Harrisburg, 
waiting for the train which was to carry them to 
their new home in the sunny South. 

The last few months had been sad ones indeed 
to them ; but they could look back now, and see 
the Love that had led them, and the Hand that 
had guided them. Yet when they had stepped 


Aunt Linda's Letter 163 

out of the little front gate, and latched it behind 
them for the last time, a feeling of sadness un- 
speakable rushed over them. They- had bidden 
good-by to each familiar room ; the sunny front 
chamber, where their mother had died, always 
seemed associated with tender memories, — memo- 
ries which were darkened only by the picture of 
that terrible night when their father, mad with the 
delirium of strong drink, had breathed out his life 
upon the couch in the corner. 

Mr. Beardsley had stepped down to the station 
to see them off ; he had never lost his kindly 
interest in them. 

“ So you are off for good, Tom ! God bless you! 
I hope you ’ll do well, — and — and you will. You 
have trusted in God, and he will never forsake you.” 
Then he spoke of Reginald, and of his fears for 
him, and the sorrow of heart his wayward son had 
already caused him. “ Father talked to me about 
my boy, before he died ; but he said the Lord was 
mighty, and he trusted that the end would be 
peace.” 

“I trust it will. We will hope for the best,” 
Tom had answered, as he took his old employer’s 
hand in a warm grasp, and bade him good-by. 


164 


Making Home Peaceful 


One by one, the last familiar objects, the last well- 
remembered landmarks, had been passed. Already 
it was getting dark, and they could see the lights 
twinkling in the little stations as they whirled 
rapidly past. Grateful tears were shining in Mag- 
gie’s eyes as she pressed her brother’s hand, and 
whispered, softly, Even the night shall be light 
about me.” 

The darkness shineth as the light ; 

The day is even as the night 
To Him who guides, upholds, protects. 

Who all my ways in love directs. 

James Beardsley sadly missed the gentle presence 
of his departed father ; the example of a godly life 
never ceases, never dies. Like the gleaming stars 
of heaven, the influence of the just shines on and 
on, one generation after another. A passing cloud 
may seemingly obscure the- light for a little time ; 
but when the cloud passes, the tiny point of light 
gleams on, none the less brightly for the passing 
shadow. 

And so, after the sudden death of the old deacon, 
the godly life which he had lived in so quiet and 
unostentatious a manner shone forth with added 
brilliancy. Even Grandmother Sharpe declared 


Aunt Linda^s Letter 


165 

that a good man had passed away ; and that she 
always had thought that if ever there was a saint 
of the Lord, it was Deacon Beardsley. Forgetful 
of the fact that the old man had ever aroused her 
envy and unreasoning jealousy, she spoke of him 
after his death, only in language of praise ! 

Well, it is always so. Grandmother Sharpe was 
not alone in this peculiarity. It is human nature. 
Strange that while our dear ones are with us, we 
are too often keenly alive to their faults, while we 
are blind to their virtues. But when the hand 
which in life we refused to take, or were too busy 
to hold in the warm clasp of brotherly love and 
friendship, is cold in death ; and the timid feet, 
whose every stumble in life we were so quick to 
notice and censure, no longer climb life’s hill by 
our side, — then we awake, as out of sleep, to see 
our mistake ; and as if we could make amends for 
our neglect, we seek, like Grandmother Sharpe, to 
raise by our kindly words a monument for the 
departed. 

The old man’s heart had been so full of God’s 
word, that it fell from his lips as the natural lan- 
guage of his soul. Sometimes a verse of Scripture 
would be the only answer he would make to a 


1 66 Makmg Home Peaceful 

question: many times it was all the answer needed. 
But often, especially to Reginald, these apt replies 
had been only irritating and exasperating. But 
already the careless boy regrets the bitter, thought- 
less words he gave the patient old man on that last 
evening, — the last words he ever spoke to him. 
He even wonders what his grandfather had wanted 
to say to him that night when he asked him to 
come to his room. The old man’s pleading words 
ring in his ears with strange persistency. He can 
not silence their echo. If he gives an unkind, dis- 
respectful word to his father, memory brings back 
at once the soft, tremulous voice now silent forever, 
with its inspired words of reproof : — 

“ The eye that mocketh at his father, and de- 
spiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the val- 
ley shall pluck it out, and the young eagles shall 
eat it.” Whenever he falls under the influence of 
bad companions, he never gives heed to their evil 
advice but under the continual protest of that 
gentle voice forever ringing in his ear : ‘‘ My son, 

if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.” The 
rude lad, who had always objected to being 
‘‘preached at,” was forced to listen to many and 
many a sermon engraved deeply upon his heart, 


Aimt Linda’s Letter 167 

\ 

long after the kindly voice of the “ old preacher ” 
was silent. 

Mothers, do you feel discouraged because your 
wayward son heeds not your tears and prayers? 
Teachers, are you about ready to give up the bat- 
tle because your pupils will not heed your words — 
the words of God ? Hear him speak, faithless one : 
“ For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from 
heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the 
earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it 
may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater : 
so shall my word be that goeth forth out of my 
mouth : it shall not return unto me void, but it 
shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall 
prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.” The oath 
of the Eternal is pledged : shall we believe it ? It 
is the will of the All-father that the gentle voice of 
his aged servant shall ever “ cry aloud,” and “ spare 
not,” even though the years may come and go. 
Like the gentle Shepherd who left the ninety and 
nine, and sought the one lost sheep until he found 
it, so the influence of those precious words of God, 
repeated so often by his servant, will faithfully and 
persistently pursue the wayward youth over the 
mountains of sin and the dark deserts of unbelief, 


1 68 Making Home Peaceful 

until the angels around the throne shall echo the 
glad song : “ This my son was dead, and is alive 

again ; he was lost, and is found.” 

Ah, the word of God ! it is never lost ; 

It is clean and white and pure ; 

O, bid it welcome within thy heart, 

It will cleanse the temple, and ne’er depart ; 

For the word of God is sure. 

There was one childish heart whose grief over 
the departure of grandpa was deep and sincere. 
Flossie was not to be comforted. Especially did 
she miss him when the little limbs grew weary, 
and the tired eyelids drooped ; for at such times it 
was that grandpa used to take the slender little 
form in his arms, and in his peculiarly gentle 
voice, tell her his sweetest stories. And grandpa’s 
stories had always serv^ed as panaceas when every- 
thing else failed to soothe and comfort the afflicted 
child. 

With each succeeding day, it becomes more and 
more apparent to James Beardsley that he is fast 
losing what little influence he has ever had over 
his son. With a sinking at his heart, he notices 
the ever-increasing evil effect of bad companions 
upon him. The lad’s mother still seems to be 


Aunt Linda's Letter 


169 


completely blind, not only to his faults, but also to 
his danger. ‘‘ When he is older, James, he will be 
all right. Of course he likes young company ; 
you mustn’t think you can put an old head on 
young shoulders.” With such arguments as these, 
Ellen Beardsley would seek to quiet her own and 
her husband’s conscience. 


CHAPTER XV 


A TALK WITH REGINALD 

m NE evening before going to the store, and 
after praying to God for strength and grace 
to do his .duty, Mr. Beardsley asked Reginald to- 
step into the library for a few minutes’ talk. The 
lad had been out until very late the evening be- 
fore, and his father had decided that something 
must be done. 

‘‘ I don’t care to talk with you ; I am just 
going over to Harry Coleman’s. Will Green is 
at the gate now, waiting for me.” 

‘‘ Never mind, my son,” said his father firmly. 
“ I will tell him he need not wait ; he can go 
alone as well, — or I will invite him in.” 

While his father stepped to the hall door, 
Reginald turned an appealing look toward his 
mother ; but at that moment she had left the 
room. There was no alternative ; he knew that 
Will Green would not come into the house at his 


A Talk with Reginald 171 

father’s invitation. With an angry flush mantling 
his cheek, he stepped into the library, and took a 
seat as far as possible from his father’s chair. 

“Come nearer, Reginald, we are only going to 
have a little talk ; that’s all.” The father’s voice 
trembled with earnestness as he continued : “I am 
sure I have never done my duty by ypu, Reginald. 
I have failed in not making myself more of a com- 
panion-for you, and I am sure I have made a mis- 
take all along. I have not brought up my children 
in the wisdom and fear of God. There is not a 
day that I do not regret the past more than I 
can express ; and I know that I am only doing a 
duty that should have been done long ago, when 
I telL you now that I must insist that you quit the 
company of bad boys upon the streets, and come 
home evenings at a reasonable hour.” 

“ ‘ Reasonable hour ’ ! ” sneered the lad, his voice 
trembling with passion. “ Seems to me I ’m get- 
ting old enough to be my own judge as to v/hat 
company I shall keep.” 

“ O Reginald ! ” pleaded his father ; “ don’t you 
understand ? I am older than you ; and you surely 
should be willing to abide by my judgment, when 
I have only the tenderest feelings of love in my 


172 


Making Home Peaceful 


heart for you. You are quite welcome to bring 
any of your companions here whenever you like. 
You have a cozy room, and I am sure your mother 
and I will try, and do try, to make your home a 
pleasant one for you. My dear boy, why will you 
choose the streets? You have your books and 
piano ; I am sorry these things are getting to be 
distasteful to you. We are trying to make your 
home happy for you, and O, how I wish you 
would try as earnestly to make your parents’ home 
a peaceful one. You are very dear to me, Regi- 
nald ; I don’t suppose you can understand the 
depths of a father’s love.” 

If the stubborn boy had looked into the ten- 
der face bent toward him so appealingly at that mo- 
ment, he would have seen tears of affection and 
love upon the cheek pale with emotion. But 
he had so long been accustomed to having his 
own way, that the seeds of selfishness had already 
taken firm root in his heart, and he had no notion 
of being domineered over,” as he called it. If 
he had even then heeded the still, small voice of 
conscience, faint though it was, he would have 
thrown his arms around his father’s neck, and 
begged his forgiveness for causing those tears of 


A Talk zvith Reginald 173 

grief. As it was, he only repeated his father’s 
words, with a bitter sneer : “ ‘ A father’s love ’ ! 

Great evidence I ’ve had of it to-night, I think ! ” 

Ah, there was one evidence of love which had 
always been lacking in the management of James 
Beardsley’s son. 

“ What i^ that ? ” you ask, in surprise. Reginald 
Beardsley has always been surrounded by every- 
thing necessary to his happiness. He has never 
known what it was to deny himself in ever so 
slight a degree for the benefit of others. His every 
whim has been gratified by an indulgent mother 
and an affectionate father. His home has been 
made pleasant, and his surroundings cheerful and 
attractive. 

Well, what was the mistake that James Beards- 
ley and his wife had made in bringing up their son ? 
Perhaps the wise man, with the divine light of 
Inspiration directing his pen, can tell us. Listen : 

He that spareth his rod hateth his son : but he 
that loveth him chasteneth him betimes.” 

‘‘ Oh, but,” I hear some one say, ‘‘ we have out- 
grown such a heathenish doctrine as that ; the 
world is too enlightened for such teaching.” 

Ah ! there are many nowadays whose fancied 


174 


Making Home Peaceful 


wisdom is so much greater than that of Solomon, 
though his pen was guided by the almighty Spirit 
of Him who is the great source of all wisdom, 
that much I fear I shall bring upon myself the 
criticism of some sage of this nineteenth century 
for being so bold as to repeat stich texts as these. 
However, I am sure Solomon would npt have ap- 
proved of making use of ‘‘ the rod ” except in love, 
and in that same wisdom that inspired him to write 
these words. 

Just then Mrs. Beardsley came into the room. 
“ What is the trouble, James? ’’ she asked. 

Before Mr. Beardsley could answer, Reginald 
exclaimed, with the confident air of one sure of 
gaining his case, ‘‘ Oh, he ’s chosen this evening to 
give me a free lecture, because I was going over to 
see Harry Coleman and Will Green.” 

‘‘ Dear me, James ! really, I ’m getting tired of 
acting the part of peacemaker. Why will you 
insist upon preaching to the boy so much ? I’m 
as anxious for him to do right as you are,” con- 
tinued the unwise woman, ‘‘ but I don’t believe in 
tormenting him all the time. Do let him go, if he 
wants to.” 

‘‘ Father in heaven, help me ! ” exclaimed James 


A Talk zvith Reginald 


175 


Beardsley, who felt as if it would perhaps have 
been better to leave unsaid the words which were 
so lightly esteemed. With a heavy heart he saw 
Reginald — a gleam of exultation in his eyes — 
put on his cap, preparatory to going out into the 
street. 

“ Can’t you see, James,” continued Mrs. Beards- 
ley, “ that you are making a great fuss about noth- 
ing? I don’t believe there’s anything very bad 
about Will Green. His father is one of the wealth- 
iest men in town, and a church-member. I ’d hate 
to offend him.” 

“ Yes, Ellen, but I ’ve seen the young man worse 
for liquor, a number of times,” replied her hus- 
band, earnestly, while such a feeling of utter lone- 
liness came over him as he had never felt before. 
Must he walk the long pathway of life alone ? 
Must his dear wife ever be a stranger to the God 
he himself had so long slighted and neglected ? 

Ah, James Beardsley is not alone in his sorrow. 
Thousands all over the land share his loneliness. 
Husbands and wives walk the path of life together 
many a year, and are yet only strangers to each 
other, — one acquainted with the peace of God ; 
the other an alien to the Father’s house ; the one 


176 


Making Home Peaceful 


cruising about on an unknown sea, without chart 
or compass ; the other led on by angel hands. 

Methinks that I stand by a deep, mighty river, 

That silently flows toward an infinite sea ; 

And sometimes its waves dash in pitiless grandeur, 

And sometimes it murmurs like music to me. 

And look ! there are barges with white banners streaming. 
So swiftly and silently passing along ; 

And the prayer of the saint and the curse of the scoffer, 

Are strangely commingled with reveler’s song. 

And some of the barks are enshrouded with darkness. 

And some wear a halo of heavenly light ; 

And some are led on by the hand of an angel, 

And some by the furious demons of night. 

And some are in quiet, and some are in strife ; 

Ah ! this is a picture — a picture of life. 

The evident lack of sympathy from his wife, 
and her complete blindness to the true state of 
affairs, together with his son’s rebellious spirit, 
were a sore trial to James Beardsley. Then, too, 
it seemed that Grandmother Sharpe grew con- 
tinually more querulous and jealous-hearted as the 
weeks went by. The contrast between her life and 
the beautiful and peaceful one which his godly 
father had lived, seemed even greater than when 
Deacon Beardsley was with them. But all these 
things only gave him a clearer sense of his de- 
pendence upon God. Especially had he felt blessed 


A Talk with Reginald 


177 


in taking up the one duty which, above all others, 
his beloved father had urged him not to neglect, — 
that of erecting the family altar, which so long 
had been broken down. These seasons of Bible 
reading and family prayer, though seemingly only 
a trouble to the older members of the family, — a 
meaningless ceremony, to be hurried over morning 
and evening, — were to little Flossie seasons of 
special delight ; then she could hear her father 
read the beautiful stories of Joseph and Benja- 
min and David and Samuel, with which Grandpa 
Beardsley used to beguile the tedious hours when 
she was so tired. Particularly did she enjoy the 
sweet story of Jacob’s dream of the angels ; and 
that of the mountains that were full of horses and 
chariots of fire round about Elisha ; and she always 
listened to the story of the birth of the Christ- 
Child, and of the angels’ song, ‘‘ On earth peace, 
good will to men,” with ever-increasing interest. 
In fact, any story in which the angels bore a prom- 
inent part was sure to be regarded with favor by 
this ‘^strange child,” as everyone called her. It 
seemed as if the little heart was growing daily 
more patient and tender, and that these lessons of 
divine truth were sinking deeper and deeper into it. 


12 


178 Making Home Peaceful 

Fathers, are you neglecting this means of grace 
in your family? Are you more anxious to settle 
down with the evening paper in your hands than 
to read the message God has for you in his Book? 
Ah, why do we welcome with such gladness, letters 
from our absent loved ones, while the grand old 
Letter from heaven is neglected day after day? 
Children, you have a message from the skies to- 
day --- a message from heaven directly to you. 
Have you read it, or have you neglected reading 
the message of your best Friend, which tells you 
he is coming again — yes, and coming soon — and 
teaches you what you may do to get ready to 
meet him ? 

Little Flossie surprised everybody with whom she 
came in contact — and none more than her wayward 
brother, Reginald — by her quaint, womanly con- 
duct, and strange fancies. One day when her big 
brother,” as she called him, was wilful and unkind, 
Flossie looked at him pleadingly, and said, softly. 
Please don’t. Regie ; you hurt Flossie. See ! the 
angels are crying !” and the impulsive lad turned 
suddenly, and giving the pale little cheek a kiss, 
seized his hat, and dashed out of the house, saying, 
“ O puss ! you do make a fellow feel so mean ! ” 


A Talk zvith Regmald 


179 


The death of little Tim, her never-to-be-forgotten 
playmate, made an impression on the sensitive 
mind of the child, which had never been effaced. 
Later, when her beloved grandfather died, it was 
the first time she had looked upon death ; and foi 
months she was so lonely and heart-broken that 
nothing kss than ‘‘angel stories,” as she called 
them, would comfort her. But her playmates — 
little Tim Mallery and Grandpa Beardsley — were 
gone ; and, as if their places could never be filled 
again, she seemed to care less and less for the com- 
panionship of other children, playing her quaint 
little games either entirely alone, as she sat in her 
wheel chair, or with little Bessie. But Bessie gen- 
erally soon wearied of Flossie’s quiet plays, and 
trotted off to find some noisier sport. At such 
times, perhaps because she more keenly missed her 
grandpa than at others, she loved to close her eyes 
tight, and wheel softly across the floor, back and 
forth, “ playing blind,” like poor grandpa. 

It was the next week after the events recorded 
in the last chapter — a dismal snowy afternoon. 
Great gusts of wind howled and moaned around 
the house, like the evil spirit in the parable, seek- 
ing rest and finding none. 


i8o 'Making Home Peaceful 

Mrs. Beardsley and Janet were unusually busy, 
and Grandmother Sharpe had gone to make an 
afternoon call. Little Bessie had not been very 
well all day, and was asleep in her crib ; and 
Flossie was quite lonely. She had played all her 
simple games, with an imaginary playfellow ; had 
looked at the pictures, one by one, in her latest 
new book ; and at last had taken her basket of 
calicoes, and spread the gaudily colored pieces 
down carefully, patting out every wrinkle with 
the delicate little hand again and again. At 
last a bright thought struck her, — she would ask 
mama to cut dolly a new frock from one of her 
largest pieces. 

Please, mama,” she called, as she slowly 
wheeled her chair out into the kitchen, where Mrs. 
Beardsley was busy making cookies, “won’t you 
cut dolly a nice new dress? ” 

At that moment Mrs. Beardsley was irritated ; 
— she had burned a large tin of cookies. For that 
simple reason, and that alone, she answered the 
child harshly, and with an impatient frown : “ Oh, 
go away, Flossie, do ! here I ’ve burned all these 
cookies — just ruined them — and I’m in such a 
hurry ! ” 


A Talk with Reginald i8i 

Mrs. Beardsley did not often speak unkindly 
to this little daughter, whom she dearly loved ; 
but we all understand well enough — aye, too well 
— by our own experience, how sometimes under 
very slight provocation, we speak unkind words, 
the memory of which is afterward gall and bitter- 
ness because of some trifling circumstance that has 
irritated us, and caused us to lose for the moment 
our self-control. O, those moments of thoughtless- 
ness, those moments when we forget ourselves, and 
let go the hand of our good angel ! how many days 
and years of regret and sorrow of heart they have 
cost ! 

Flossie was quite stunned for the moment ; she 
could hardly believe that her mother had been 
speaking to her. But she turned away sadly, with 
a little ache in her heart, and, choking down a sob, 
wheeled slowly back through the hall, saying to 
herself: ‘‘Mama’s too busy; poor mama.” Just 
then Mrs. Beardsley opened the heavy trap-door in 
the kitchen floor, and hastily went down cellar. 
She intended to be gone only a moment, and know- 
ing that Bessie was asleep, and thinking Flossie 
had returned to the sitting-room, she had no 
thought of fear from the open door. But, failing 


i 82 


Making Home Peaceful 


to gain the attention of her mother, Flossie had 
determined to fall back upon her old source of 
amusement — ‘‘ playing blind.” 

“ I ’ll play I ’m grandpa — blind — so — so ; now 
I ’ll walk,” — she always called it walking ” when 
she turned the wheels of her little chair. Then 
she begins her journey back through the hall ; 
with some difficulty she passes through the door of 
the kitchen. She has done the same thing — 
played the same way — many times before. The 
open trap-door is just in front, not a yard distant. 
Still Mrs. Beardsley tarries in the cellar, unmind- 
ful of the danger to her child. Slowly the small 
wheels revolve ; the little chair pauses a second 
with its precious freight, as if dreading to make 
the fearful leap ; and then it goes plunging 
downward. 



The Wheels Paused a Moment, as if Dreading to Make 
THE Fearful Plunge 


183 




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CHAPTER XVI 


IN DEEP DISGRACE 

0 ITH a cry of anguish and horror, Mrs. Beards- 
ley rushed to the place where the limp form 
of her child lay. 

^ Thank God, she is alive !’’ she cried, as a 
fc:eble moan of pain fell on her ear. The child, at 
first stunned into unconsciousness, was in another 
moment keenly alive to her pain. But the fact 
that she was not dead filled the mother’s heart with 
a deep gratitude, though she saw at once that one 
tiny arm was broken. “ But she lives, thank God!” 
said Mr. Beardsley, when he reached home in re- 
sponse to a hasty summons. Ah, little Flossie ! 
your mission is not yet accomplished. The angels, 
of whom you so delight to hear,- have been sent to 
preserve you. 

“ She will soon be all right again, Mrs. Beards- 
ley,” said Dr. Brown ; “all she needs is quiet and 
good nursing for a while. Young bones soon 

185 



1 86 Makmg Home Peaceful 

mend, and the knitting work will sooti be done,’’' 
he smiled, with an attempt at humor. 

But the days and nights seemed longer than 
ever to the afflicted child, and wore upon the del- 
icate little form greatly. 

Of course Grandmother Sharpe did not forget ta 
declare, earnestly and often, that the accident would 
never have occurred if her advice had been heeded. 

But this accident, sad and painful as it was, 
accomplished at least one good thing : Flossie 
never grew tired of telling her big brother how the 
‘‘pretty angels” had saved her life; in fact, the 
child could not bear to have him out of her sight 
in the evening. So it came to pass that many an 
engagement with “ the fellows ” was broken off, 
much to Reginald’s chagrin ; for he had not the 
heart, rude and boisterous as he was, to refuse 
to amuse his little sister. James Beardsley noticed 
with a thankful heart the unconscious modula- 
tion of his son’s loud tones whenever he spoke 
to the gentle little sufferer, and the air of tender- 
ness which fell upon him. Ah, love is mighty I 
it transforms the most rebellious heart ; it makes 
sweet and pure the most obstinate spirit. It is 
the very name of God, and there is power in it. 


In Deep Disgrace 187 

How earnestly the father hoped that Reginald’s 
love for his little sister might yet prove to be the 
one tender spot in his rebellious heart. 

After some weeks had passed, and Flossie was 
able to be out again in her little chair, one morning 
a letter came from Tom Willis, addressed to his 
old friend and employer. 

James Beardsley was sitting with the family at 
the breakfast-table when the letter came. He 
recognized the familiar handwriting at once, and 
knowing the bitter ill-will in the hearts of his wife 
and his son against the young man whom they had 
so wronged, he hesitated about opening the letter 
in their presence. Reginald’s quick eye, however, 
detected his father’s hesitation in a moment, and 
one glance at the envelope was enough to assure 
him that the letter was from Tom. 

“Hello! got a letter from our ‘pious friend,’ 
have you ? ” questioned Reginald, with a sneer. 
“ Strange, I never could be at peace with that chap, 
hard as I tried. I expect my exemplary conduct 
was such a reproof to him, he couldn’t stand it,” 
he continued, mockingly. “ Well, maybe I’ll turn 
out as well as he does, for all he’s such a goody- 
goody,” he added, bitterly. 


i88 


Making Home Peaceful 


“ Your language pains me very much, Reginald. 
I do not think Tom Willis ever did anything to 
injure you, and I think the day will come when it 
will be proved to the satisfaction of every one,” 
said Mr. Beardsley, slowly unfolding the letter. 

Ellen Beardsley’s cheeks had begun to grow hot, 
and her eyes to flame, before her husband had 
finished speaking. 

“ I suppose you allude to me, James, — I must be 
the ‘ every one ’ to whom you refer. I can’t under- 
stand how you can possibly be such an unnatural 
father. It is plain to be seen that you prefer the 
son of a stranger — a poor, miserable drunkard — 
to your own son ; and making such high profes- 
sions as you do, James, I don’t see how — really, I 
can’t understand you.” 

“No, Ellen, I am sure you don’t understand me. 
Would to God you did, and that we might both 
better understand our duty as parents before him,” 
said Mr. Beardsley, sadly. 

“ Oh, well, there is no use in talking about it ; 
we shall not see at all alike on this subject. Would 
you care to read your friend’s letter to your family, 
or is such a treat to be reserved for more appreci- 
ative ears?” sarcastically rejoined Mrs. Beardsley. 


In Deep Disgrace 


189 


It could easily be seen from whom Reginald in- 
herited his cutting speech and imperious manners. 

I am sure my young readers are anxious to hear 
from Tom Willis by this time ; so we will listen as 
Mr. Beardsley unfolds his letter and begins to read: 

Miles Creek, March 14. 18— 

Mr. Jaunt'S Beardsley, 

Harrisburg , .• 

My Dear Friend: I am sure you will be glad to hear that 
my sister and I are very happy in our new home. We have 
found such friends as we never expected to find on earth. God 
has been good to us ; and after the dark and bitter experience 
which the last six months in Harrisburg brought us, the change 
from darkness to light, from bitter to sweet, seems all the more 
wonderful. Yet I can see that those lonely days of trial were 
not sent in vain ; they were not purposeless. God had a sweet 
lesson for us to learn — a lesson of faith and trust — which I 
only wish had been better learned. 

I thank you for all your kindness to me ; and, let me add, I 
have the fullest confidence that some day it will be clearly 
proved to Mrs. Beardsley that I have never intended to wrong 
Reginald in the least. But I can wait the will of the Lord, who 
says that circumstances are brought about, not by might nor by 
power, but by his Spirit. Yes, as I said to you once before, I 
can wait. 

Uncle is very kind to us, and I am helping him in his store, 
and attending evening school. Sister Maggie has improved 
very much in health and spirits. This warm Southern climate 
appears to agree with her. Please remember us kindly to any 
who may inquire about us. 

Very sincerely yours, 

I'OM VV’lLLIS. 


190 Making Home Peaceful 

The next afternoon after the receipt of this 
letter, Reginald came home from school at an un- 
usually early hour, and it did not take his partial, 
keen-eyed mother long to notice a peculiar nervous- 
ness and agitation in his manner. The fact was, 
he had at last been expelled from school. 

‘‘ Why, Regie ! ’’ began his mother, with an 
anxious look at the clock, “ how is it you are home 
so early? You’re not sick, I hope,” she added, 
though something in the young man’s appearance 
told her that it was an affair of a far more serious 
nature than a trifling indisposition. Ellen Beards- 
ley almost held her breath, awaiting his answer. 

“Yes, I’m sick; fact is, I’ve been sick a long 
time — sick of school. Professor Hill is nothing 
but a crank, anyway. I ’ve learned all he knows 
how to teach me, and now I propose either to 
stay at home or else go out to Uncle Earl’s to 
school. I ’d like to graduate, and I don’t see why 
I can’t go.” 

Reginald knew well what wires to pull when he 
wanted his own way. He had long tried to gain 
his parents’ consent to going out to his Uncle 
Earl’s, his mother’s brother, who had no children 
except one daughter. The boy could not endure 


hi Deep Disgrace 


191 

even the little restraint put upon him at his home, 
and he longed to be free. Uncle Earl was rich ; 
and Reginald fancied that if he could only live 
with him, he could do as he liked. 

“ What ’s happened, dear ? You have n’t been 
dismissed from school ? Has Professor Hill, — 
after all we Ve done for him, — how I do despise an 
ingrate ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Beardsley. 

Professor Hill was a poor man ; and when he 
first came to Harrisburg, Mr. Beardsley had been 
the means of getting him a position as principal in 
one of the public schools, and had aided him 
financially. This Mrs. Beardsley never forgot ; 
and though the perplexed teacher had done the 
best he could for Reginald, she always accused him 
of ingratitude when any trouble occurred with 
her son. 

“Yes, he has; I Ve been expelled. That’s the 
long and short of it. Maybe I ’ll get even with 
him yet, sometime ! ” exclaimed the misguided 
youth, whose chief desire had always been to “get 
even ” with any one who, as he fancied, had done 
him a wrong. It was this evil spirit of revenge 
that had prompted him to cause the dismissal of 
Tom Willis. Alas and alas that his unwise mother 


192 Making Home Peaceful 

never had rebuked this indication of a cruel, re- 
vengeful disposition in her son, even as she did not 
now do ! She only shrugged her shoulders un- 
easily, and said : “ I don’t care to have it get out, 

Reginald. I don’t know what the Greens or the 
Willoughbys would say or think. Likely they 
would n’t understand, and think it a great disgrace.” 

Ellen Beardsley did not even take the trouble to 
inquire into the nature of her son’s difficulty at 
school. It did not occur to her that he could be in 
the wrong ; but she was greatly distressed at the 
thought of his leaving home, and hoped to be able 
in some way to bring about a reconciliation with 
the teacher, so that Reginald need not bear the dis- 
grace of expulsion. 

But Professor Hill had ^ already called to see 
Mr. Beardsley at his store, after school, so when 
the latter came home to supper, and his wife pro- 
posed that he see the teacher and arrange some 
compromise, as he had often done before, she 
was met with the reply that it was useless. “ I 
feel the disgrace of this miserable affair keenly,” 
Mr. Beardsley explained, “ but it is of no use. I 
said all I could to Professor Hill. He declares the 
boy to be completely beyond his control, and says 


In Deep Disgrace 


193 


he can no longer put up with the effect of his 
demoralizing conduct on the other boys.’’ 

‘‘ ‘ Demoralizing conduct,’ indeed ! ” sneered Mrs. 
Beardsley. She was irritated at once by detecting 
an inclination on her husband’s part to sympathize 
with Professor Hill against Reginald. “ I suppose 
Regie is no worse in school, and causes no more 
trouble, if the truth was known, than Will Green, 
or Frank Willoughby, or any of the other boys ; 
but the Greens and the Willoughbys are rich. 
Oh, it’s the money, James, — it’s the money, — I 
know ; and,” she continued, bitterly, “ to think of 
how much you ’ve done for that man ! ” 

“ Well,” chimed in Grandmother Sharpe, the 
usual injured look very prominent in her. face, “ 1 
told James not to help that schoolmaster, nor lend 
him no money. I could see, well enough, how 
’t would all turn out. He don’t think no more of 
you, nor favor you no more, ’n if you ’d never 
helped him. He ’s dretful ongrateful — a turnin’ 
your only boy out of school ! It ’s quare ; nobody 
pays no heed to what I say.” 

“ Professor Hill has done the best he could with 
Reginald, grandmother,” explained Mr. Beardsley, 
mildly. Grandmother had always seemed unwill- 
13 


194 


Makmg Home Peaceful 


ing to lend a helping hand to those in trouble, for 
fear they would not appreciate what she had done. 
There are many like her, who let pass countless 
opportunities for doing good, from a selfish fear 
that their own vanity will not be pampered, and 
their virtues magnified, by the recipient of their 
favors. Have we not all met persons who$e chief 
concern appeared to be, not to do good for the sake 
of helping and uplifting fallen humanity, but ap- 
parently that some one might owe them so over- 
whelming a debt of gratitude that every one would 
agree that it could never be paid ? Then they pat 
themselves upon the back, assume a wounded air, 
and declare that they are unappreciated, and that 
the world is very selfish and ungrateful. 

‘‘ Well, James,’’ continued Mrs. Beardsley, ignor- 
ing her mother’s remark, ‘‘ I don’t know how you 
may look at it, but / am of the opinion that Regie 
would better finish his education and graduate, in 
spite of Professor Hill or anybody else. I don’t 
propose to have the poor boy crushed and kept 
under, just because he happens to have a little more 
spirit and pluck than the other boys. Nobody 
knows — not even you, James” — whimpered the 
excited woman, “ how hard it would be for me to 


In Deep Disgrace 


195 


give my boy up, even for a few months ; but I can 
do it for his good, — I can do it.” 

“ I presnme you think it would help matters to 
send him out to his Uncle Earl’s. But you know, 
Ellen ” 

“Yes, I know, — you’re going to object. You 
always do if I set my heart on anything. I tell 
you, I want my son to graduate, and make his 
mark in the world.” 

“ I am as anxious as you are on that point, 
Ellen ; but you know, well enough, that Earl is 
not a Christian ; and I would like our son to be 
under Christian influence. Of course Earl is em- 
inently respectable and all that, as far as the world 
goes ; but I fear for the influence on the boy. If 
he were only a Christian ” 

“ Oh, dear ! you ’re so straight-laced, James. 
I ’ve no patience with you ! ” and Mrs. Beardsley 
turned away, fretfully. 

Reginald had been an unobserved listener to 
this conversation ; and now, snatching his cap, he 
hurried out of the house, more determined than 
ever that he would overcome his father’s scruples, 
and before the winter was over, be his own master, 
and enjoy perfect freedom at Uncle •Earl’s. Still 


196 Making Home Peaceful 

the boy had moments of real sorrow over his own 
waywardness, and at last he determined to promise 
his father that he would certainly do better, and 
would quit the company of bad boys altogether, or 
else try to induce them to visit him at his own 
home. For a week after his promise was made, 
which he really intended to keep faithfully, the 
lad was so good and obedient that his father at 
last gave a reluctant consent to his going away to 
school ; and the next Thursday afternoon was ap- 
pointed for his departure. 

But a whole week of orderly conduct, of respect- 
ful attention to his parents’ wishes, of staying at 
home or helping his father at the store evenings, 
and going to bed when the other members of the 
family did ; in short, a whole week of unreproach- 
able conduct, seemed an age to the self-willed lad, 
and was almost more than he could endure ; so the 
reformation which his anxious father and too san- 
guine mother had hoped was to be permanent, 
proved, before the week was gone, to be of very 
short duration. 

The evening before he was to leave home was a 
beautiful one ; a thousand diamonds glittered and 
sparkled on the crisp snow, as the bright light 


In Deep Disgrace 


197 


from the street-lamps fell upon it, and the tempta- 
tion to spend an hour or two with his reckless 
companions before he left them, was too strong to 
be put aside. So, carelessly remarking that he 
guessed he ’d go over to the store for a while, he 
went out to spend his last evening with the wild 
young men whose acquaintance he had cultivated, 
and whose habits and manners he had long imi- 
tated. Reginald knew very well where he would 
be likely to find them ; in fact. Will Green had 
suggested that day that he meet a few of the boys 
for a “good-by treat” at Reddy’s hotel in the 
evening. 

The lad was not altogether hardened ; and his 
conscience whispered to him not to heed the invi- 
tation, but to spend his last evening at home, 
especially as little Flossie begged him, just as he 
was going out, to hold her in his lap, and tell her 
about the big tigers in his natural history. But 
the evil angels prevailed. Down the streets he 
hurried, as i£ driven on by the spirits of darkness. 
The gay saloon, with its brilliant lights, is reached 
and entered. As he opens the door, snatches of 
vile songs and coarse laughter fall upon his ear. 
He does not intend to stay long ; but it takes only 


198 


Making Home Peaceful 


a glass or two to bewilder and confuse his mind, 
and the hours pass rapidly by, as in a dream. At 
last, as the midnight hour approaches, he is carried 
out by two of his companions, more accustomed to 
the effects of the vile cup, and steadied home, con- 
scious only of an aching head, and an outraged 
stomach, which made an effort at frequent intervals 
to relieve itself of its vile contents, and haunted by 
a vague fear of the results of his act of indiscretion. 
By the time he has dragged his unwilling feet up 
the steps, he is completely overcome, and is quite 
unable to enter the house. His sneaking com- 
panions, whom he calls “friends,’’ ring the bell 
loudly, leave the poor lad in a heap upon the cold 
steps, and beat a hasty retreat. 

Mrs. Beardsley had supposed that Reginald was 
at the store until his father came home at half-past 
nine : then she did not mention his absence, hoping 
her husband would not ask about him ; and he, 
supposing Reginald had spent his last evening at 
home, with his mother, said nothing. Mrs. Beards- 
ley had two objects in expressing no surprise to her 
husband that Reginald was not with him when he 
came home : she hoped to be able thus to keep the 
truth from him ; for she knew well that he would 


hi Deep Disgrace 


199 


be grieved and disappointed that the boy had not 
kept his word, and perhaps he might refuse em 
tirely to let him go to his uncle’s. Even if he did 
not do this, she feared he would reprove him ; and 
the unwise and foolish woman dreaded nothing so 
much as that her son, the darling of her heart, 
should receive censure for anything. She had 
gone to bed hoping that he had taken a night-key 
with him, and that his father would not be awak- 
ened when he returned. She did n’t believe in 
being so strict with him, anyway, and was greatly 
annoyed because she could not induce her husband 
to give up his “straight-laced notions,” as she 
termed them. 

Let us not be too hard upon this woman, foolish 
and unwise as she appears. She believed in her 
son — believed in him implicitly — and that is 
well. No mother can have any influence over her 
son, who does not believe in him. But Ellen 
Beardsley believed in her son blindly, unwisely, 
and against her better judgment ; yes, even against 
the evidence of her own senses. She was getting 
to fear not so much the sin as the exposure ; not so 
much the baneful effect of evil companions as that 
something should occur which would serve to 


200 


Making Home Peaceful 


thwart her cherished plans. She had not believed 
it possible that her boy could be led very far away 
from the path of rectitude ; other boys might be 
led away, but surely not hers. Had she thought 
this possible, she would have been as greatly dis- 
tressed and grieved as any less unwise mother. 
She hoped for great things from him — her first- 
born. He will graduate ! How proud she will be 
of him ! and how surprised Professor Hill will be ! 
From this fond dream she was awakened by the 
loud ringing of the bell. Thoughts of Reginald 
were the first that filled her mind, and rushed in 
upon her waking consciousness, even as they had 
been the last that occupied her sleeping fancies. 

‘‘ What is it, Ellen ? ” 

‘‘Nothing — just somebody at the door — that’s 
all.” A dread of something terrible about to hap- 
pen almost paralyzed her tongue. What if — but 
no ! it could not be Reginald. Still, she felt an 
unaccountable and almost overmastering desire to 
hurry down-stairs. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A NIGHT OF ANGUISH 

Ik^ilHAT is it that sometimes, in hours of extreme 
IIjLiI danger, or moments of unusual trial, comes to 
us as with a message of warning, — a premonition 
of impending trouble ? Who can say but it may 
be the touch of the angel whose especial mission it 
is to watch over us ? who knows but it may be a 
faint whisper from his sacred lips, which reaches 
our inner consciousness, and in some mysterious 
manner impresses its message of warning upon our 
hearts ? 

“ Wait, James ! Tet me go down, — I must go ! ’’ 
she exclaimed, springing from her bed in nervous 
haste. 

‘‘ Why, Ellen ! I ’ll go, of course ; what ’s the 
matter ? you ’re nervous ; you ’ve been working too 
hard to get Regie ready to go. You ’ll be sick if 
you ’re not careful ; now go back to bed ; it ’s quite 
cold in the room. You need not be alarmed at all. 


201 


202 


Making Home Peaceful 


I presume it ’s John Dillon on some little matter 
of business ; he often comes late, you know. I ’ll 
soon be back,” he continued, reassuringly, from the 
top of the stairs. 

Ellen Beardsley sank back upon her pillow and 
listened. For a moment that seemed an age to the 
overwrought woman, she could hear nothing but 
the loud beating of her own heart. Then she was 
sure she heard Reginald’s name and an exclama- 
tion of astonishment from her husband. 

It was but the work of a moment for the excited 
woman to throw a shawl about her shoulders and 
follow her husband. She reached the door of the 
hall just in time to see him partly lead and partly 
drag a seemingly half-insensible form across the 
room to the sofa. 

‘‘James! James! is it my boy? What has 
happened ? What is it ? tell me, Reginald ! O 
have pity on me! Are you hurt? Has he been 
hurt, James? ” 

Her only answer was a stupid stare, accompanied 
with an oath, and an unintelligible medley of 
words, uttered with a thick tongue. 

''Do I live to hear my son curse me? James ! 
James ! I can not bear it ! ” moaned the wretched 


A Night of Ajiguish 


203 


woman, wildly wringing her hands, and falling 
upon her knees by the side of the half-uncon- 
scious lad. Already the nauseating smell of liquor 
has filled the room, the warmth of which is begin- 
ning to tell on the poor boy with sickening effect. 

Reader, let us draw a friendly curtain over this 
scene. Heart-breaking as it is, there is many a 
home tkat has witnessed its counterpart ; many a 
mother’s heart that has felt the numbing pain, the 
anguish unspeakable, that Ellen Beardsley felt that 
night. Many a loving father has trembled under 
a burden of like anguish, as he felt that he was 
draining to the dregs the cup of bitterness. 

It is nearly noon of the next day before, thor- 
oughly chagrined, the boy awakens. His head is 
aching still ; but as he sees his well-packed trunk 
standing in the hall, his desire to go is as strong as 
ever. But he rightly judges that his father will be 
more determined than he has ever been not to trust 
him away from home. He is heartily ashamed of 
his conduct, and deeply regrets yielding to tempta- 
tion. At last he decides that he will humble 
himself before his father, and ask him to forgive 
his folly when he conies home to dinner. This is 
an unusual resolution for the self-willed youth to 


204 


Making Home Peaceful 


form, but he sees no other way out of the trouble. 
Still he fears that his father will not have con- 
fidence enough in him to give him money, and 
allow him to go. If not, he decides so to work 
upon his mother’s sympathies that she will give 
him the needed amount ; or, should all else fail, he 
will help himself. 

James Beardsley was gratified beyond words to 
see that his son appeared to sense the shame he 
had brought upon them, and listened eagerly to his 
expressions of sorrow and his fair promises. And 
indeed there was a deal of sincerity in them ; for 
Reginald was not yet altogether -hardened in evil, 
and his sorrow and shame over his conduct were 
not wholly feigned. 

“ Uncle Earl will expect me to start to-night, 
father,” he urged ; “ and I can never do any better 
as long as I stay here ; if I can only get away 
from the boys, I shall be all right.” 

“I guess he’s right, James,” said his mother, 
sadly. But it was plain to see that she did not 
speak with her usual assurance. For the first time 
in her life she questioned the wisdom of her course 
in training her son. So James Beardsley thought 
the matter over, and prayed over it earnestly, and 


A Night of Anguish 205 

finally decided that perhaps it would be as well for 
the boy to go. 

Nevertheless it was a sad home-leaving. Flossie 
sobbed convulsively : the strong, impulsive lad had 
always loved the little sister for her very weak- 
ness. She clung to him now, until papa unclasped 
the little white arms gently. 

Brother must go now, little sister. Good-by.” 

Then the' child placed one tiny hand lovingly 
on the jetty locks, and said, tremulously : ‘‘ Floss- 
ie ’s going to ask God to let a pretty angel go 
with Regie, and I guess it won’t ever leave him.” 

“ God grant it ! ” said James Beardsley, earnestly. 

Everything went on in about the old way, after 
Reginald left ; and now the snow and ice have 
melted away, and the early spring violets lift up 
their brave little faces cheerfully to the passerby, as 
if to say : “ See ! here we are again. God is good ; 

if he remembers us, surely he will not forget you.” 

Frequent letters from Reginald, and one occa- 
sionally from Uncle Earl, told pleasant stories of 
the absent boy’s prosperity and of his success with 
his studies, until finally James Beardsley began to 
hope that his fears had been quite unfounded. But 
unaided human nature is utter weakness. 


CHAPTER XVlll 


THE REAPING TIME 

[pSlNE morning Grandmother Sharpe awakened 
iSil with a severe pain in her side. She was 
almost always strong and well ; and as is usually 
the case in such instances, she feared and dreaded 
the least symptom of disease, which she watched 
with wonderful solicitude. But as the weary hours 
dragged by, it became evfdent that the poor old 
woman’s case was really serious. She rebelled all 
day against calling a doctor, on the ground that it 
would make her appear very ill. There was one 
thing rather remarkable about her, — it mattered 
not how querulous and disagreeable she might be 
in health, it took but an hour or two of pain, or 
even of indisposition, to render her so kind and 
good-tempered that the contrast was wonderful. 
This instance was no exception to the rule. 
Whether it was fear of death that prompted these 

206 


The Reaping Time 


207 


sudden reformations, or a real desire to make as 
little trouble as possible, no one could tell ; but let 
us hope it may have been the latter. 

On the morning of the second day of her illness, 
grandmother was so much worse that Mr. Beards- 
ley insisted upon calling a doctor, who pronounced 
the case very serious. Mrs. Beardsley and Janet 
were kept busy all that day and the next, trying to 
ease her sufferings ; but she rapidly grew worse 
until it was plain that her mind was wandering. 
Grandpa Beardsley appeared to be continually in 
her thoughts. 

“James,” she would call, hoarsely, “James, see! 
your father wants a piece of toast. Pll make him 
some. Poor old man ! see how white he looks. 
Don’t — don’t — Ellen — Regie ! — don’t speak so 
cross to him ! ” and then she would murmur, gently, 
“ Saint of the Lord — poor old man ! ” Evidently 
grandmother was living over that never-to-be- 
forgotten day when the old deacon fell asleep. 

At last, on the evening of the fifth day, she ap- 
peared to be sleeping quietly, and Mrs. Beardsley 
was trying to get a little rest, which she sadly 
needed. Suddenly, about midnight, grandmother’s 
shrill voice was heard calling in tones of anguish. 


2o8 


Making Home Peaceful 


Mrs. Beardsley hurried into the room, supposing 
her to be still delirious. In her agony, which ap- 
peared to be as much mental as physical, she raised 
herself up in her bed. Her black eyes gleamed 
like balls of fire, and she flung her arms wildly 
above her head : ‘‘ Ellen ! Ellen ! ” she cried, 
goiii' to die^ and I ainH ready ! Where’s James?” 

Would you like to have me send for Elder 
Maynard, mother? Shall I send Janet ? ” 

“No! no! I want James to pray for me, 
Ellen. He a Christian ! Many’s the time he ’s 
been kind to me when I ’ve been wicked an’ spite- 
ful. Call James, Ellen ! O how I wish I ’d been 
better to his father,” she added, with a sigh, as 
Mrs. Beardsley hurried to call her husband. 

With hands raised to heaven, James Beardsley 
bowed beside the couch of the trembling woman ; 
and with earnest voice and a heart filled with faith, 
he commended her to the keeping of the Good 
Shepherd, from whom none of his lambs ever 
wander so far that he can not hear their cry. 

“ Do you think he ’ll hear, James ? will he hear ?” 
she wailed. “ O, I ’ve been a ‘ wanton professor ’ 
so, long ! Bunyan calls ’em ‘ damnable.’ If I ’d 
been a better mother, Ellen, you would n’t have 



14 


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The Reaping Time 


2II 


found it such hard work to do right ; but if you 
an’ Janies ’ll forgive me, mebby the Lord will.” 

Ellen Beardsley was sobbing aloud. “Yes, 
mother,” she said, gently, “ we forgive you as we 
hope to be forgiven.” 

Quickly the restless head fell back upon the 
pillows, the terrified expression in the deep eyes 
gave place to one of peace ; and in a moment the 
sick woman dropped into a quiet slumber. It was 
as if the touch of healing had accompanied the 
assurance of pardon, even as when, nearly nineteen 
hundred years ago, the divine Master said to the 
dying sufferer, “ Thy sins be forgiven thee ; arise, 
and walk.” When grandmother again awoke, the 
pain was gone, and an expression of such peace 
and happiness and love glorified her face that it 
was almost transfigured. “ O Ellen ! Ellen ! ” she 
cried, “ the angels of God have met me ! ” 

After that Grandma Sharpe gradually but surely 
regained her health and strength. But if those 
knowing her so well wondered within themselves 
if the keeping power of God would be strong 
enough for such as she, they gradually ceased to 
doubt as the weeks passed away. The jealous, un- 
lovely disposition had been exchanged for one of 


212 


Making Home^ Peaceful 


kindness and loving charity toward all. In this 
wondrous change no one rejoiced more than did 
James Beardsley, and he often said to himself, 
What hath God wrought ! ” Even the children 
noticed the difference in grandma. 

‘‘Dranma don’t stold Bessie one bit all day,” 
the child remarked in an astonished manner one 
afternoon when she had been unusually trying 
to grandma’s patience : “ Bessie just lites dranma 
now.” 

“ Why, yes, Bessie,” replied Flossie, in a whisper, 
‘‘ why, yes ; grandma says the angels met her one 
time, and one of ’em stays with her all day now ; 
and I presume,” she added, wisely, “ it ’s the same 
one that stayed with grandpa ’ fore he died ; she 
acts most ’zactly like him.” 

Mrs. Beardsley’s surprise at this change was very 
great ; and though she said little, .the Spirit of God 
was pleading with her every moment. Night and 
day the burning words that her mother uttered in 
her mortal terror on that memorable night rang in 
her ears with ever increasing frequency, and would 
not be dismissed : ‘‘I’m going to die, and I ’m not 
ready ! ” What if the angel of death should again 
hover over their roof? what if she should be 


The Reapmg Time 


213 


chosen? Would she be ready? At last her con- 
science was at work ; and memory brought back 
many a scene, especially in the management of her 
children, which caused her much regret and pain. 
She remembered how unwisely she had dealt with 
Reginald ; how she had failed to instruct him and 
warn him with loving tenderness ; what if he were 
never converted, as the result of her example and 
unwise course ! 

In the midst of reflections like these one beauti- 
ful morning in early summer the postman called 
with letters. There was one in the bold, familiar 
hand of her brother Earl. She opened it with a 
dull foreboding of evil. It was a very brief letter ; 
and as Ellen Beardsley read it with trembling 
haste, every word seemed to burn itself into her 
heart. She noticed that the wrapper was a square 
pink-tinted one, instead of the plain white which 
her brother always made use of, and she dully 
wondered why he had used it. She even noted 
the scent of violets on the paper. Just then the 
canary began a merry tune from his cage in the 
sunny window, and she dimly realized that Janet 
was asking her some question about making a 
pudding for dinner. Strange that in moments of 


214 


Making Home Peaceful 


anguish, when the heart is suddenly filled with an 
overmastering sorrow, the . most trivial affairs — 
the most commonplace sights and sounds — will 
stamp themselves upon the brain. Once more, 
with dry eyes and a feeling of suffocation at her 
heart, Mrs. Beardsley read the letter she had re- 
ceived. Let us stand by her side, and read with 
her the few brief words : — 

Dear Sister : Reginald left here this morning. I do not 
know just where he intended to go, but I think to some point 
in the South. We quarreled yesterday, Ellen, and this is the 
result. Of course you will blame me ; but when I tell you that 
I have just discovered that the young man has been appropri- 
ating money from my office for some time, I trust you will not 
think me hasty in allowing him freedom to go, as he naturally 
wished to do. I am much disappointed in him ; for he seemed 
to be doing well at school. You will forgive me for saying that 
although I am not a Christian, I must say I did not expect such 
duplicity from a boy who, I suppose, has had Christian precept 
and training from babyhood. 

In much sympathy, 

Earl. 

With a second reading of the letter, the unhappy 
woman understood more fully its real import. She 
had only one thought, — to hurry to her own room, 
where no one could witness her agony. She rose 
mechanically from her chair, and tottered forward ; 
but her trembling feet refused to support her, and 


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The Reaping Time 


217 


with a moaning cry, “ My punishment is greater 
than I can bear ! ’’ she fell heavily to the floor. 

For days the stricken woman lay upon her couch 
of pain, battling for life through the delirium of 
fever. Weary weeks of tedious convalescence fol- 
lowed, — weeks of heart-searching and deep humili- 
ation of soul,— weeks when memory was busy 
bringing to her mind scenes which she would fain 
forget. She remembered with sorrow the un- 
questioned freedom she had given her son in the 
use of the too liberal allowance of money she had 
furnished him from childhood, until all sense of its 
true worth had been taken away ; how she had 
screened him from blame in the matter of Janet’s 
stolen money, and stubbornly refused to use reason 
or judgment. 

She sees it all plainly now — the whole mis- 
erable affair. Tom Willis had told his story truly, 
after all — poor Tom ! how she had wronged him ! 
Knowing her son’s dishonesty at last, she could 
understand many things that had puzzled her in 
the past. How blind she had been ! how unjust to 
Tom ! She decides to write and ask his forgive- 
ness. She remembers her cruelty to little Tim 
Mallery ; her unsympathetic, unloving conduct 


2i8 


Making Home Peaceful 


toward her noble husband ; and last, but by no 
means least, her harshness and severity toward his 
godly father. All these things come up b^efore 
her, and settle themselves with such crushing 
weight upon her soul that it seems to her she can 
never be forgiven. 

In deep contrition of heart, Ellen Beardsley re- 
views her past life with all its deformity ; but not 
until she fully realizes that the blood of Christ 
alone is sufficient to cleanse her sins ; not until she 
flings herself, in her helplessness and sin, at the 
feet of the Saviour of sinners, and cries from her 
burdened heart, ‘‘Just as I am,* . . . O Lamb of 
God, I come ! I come ! ” does she feel the sweet 
peace of forgiveness ; but when at last she arises 
from her bed of suffering, she is indeed a changed 


woman. 


CHAPTER XIX 


MAKING HOME PEACEFUL 

|ORE than eight years have passed since the 
events recorded in the preceding chapters took 
place. Ellen Beardsley’s jetty hair is streaked 
with gray, and mourning for her wayward son has 
imparted a pathetic droop to her thin lips. Still 
through all these sorrowing years, the grace of God 
has been to her a mighty bulwark, a tower of 
strength. James Beardsley is happy in the thought 
that he is no longer alqne^ and in the sweet con- 
sciousness that the wife of his youth is walking 
with him the narrow path of peace ; and although 
sharing with her the terrible grief of mourning 
for the wayward son, from whom they have heard 
nothing but the most meager reports in all these 
years, he can say from his heart : “ Blessed be the 
name of the Lord.” ‘‘Though he slay me, yet 
will I trust in him ! ” 

Grandmother Sharpe appears actually younger 

219 


220 Making Home Peaceful 

than she did on the day when Reginald left home. 
The small black eyes are filled with a kindly light, 
and the shrill voice has somehow lost its harsh- 
ness. Baby Bessie is a tall, sweet-mannered, help- 
ful little maiden, thanks to the Christian training 
of the last eight years. 

Flossie, — I can see an eager, expectant look 
shining in the eyes of my young readers at men- 
tion of this name, — Flossie, patient, tender little 
Flossie, is the same as of yore, only the passing 
years have given an added grace to her manner, 
and an added beauty to the almost classic features. 
She still loves to hear stories of the angels, and 
believes with all her heart that sbme kind messen- 
ger of the glory-land is watching over her big 
brother, and will some day bring him back. 

Janet still stays, — a faithful creature — and poor 
Mrs. Mallery, cheerful and grateful, lives in a tiny, 
comfortable cottage, — the happy pensioner of 
James Beardsley. 

Come with me now to a pleasant rural village 
in the sunny South. It is late in December, but 
the days are bright and warm, and the sweet scent 
of roses fills the air. Everywhere they toss their 


Making Home Peaceful 221 

brilliant heads, vainly attempting, from their very 
profusion, to gain the admiration that they richly 
deserve. 

It is evening, and from the few pedestrians who 
are seen upon the streets, we judge that the hour 
is late. The street-lamps give a bright light in 
the better and more central part of the village ; 
but the outskirts are deserted and quite dark, save 
for the soft light from the moon, which is near its 
full. The old bridge, which spans a small tribu- 
tary of the mighty Mississippi, and leads from the 
village toward the east, is quite in the shadow. 
The note of a belated chuck-wilPs-widow ” is 
heard, which, with the monotonous swish of the 
river against the firm levees, is almost the only 
sound that breaks the stillness. 

For some time the old bridge has been under- 
going repairs, which have but recently been fin- 
ished ; and the temporary bridge for the workmen, 
consisting of only two or three narrow boards, laid 
at one side and extending to the middle pier, has 
not yet been taken down. 

Look ! along this improvised platform a man is 
making his way slowl}^ and with uncertain steps. 
It takes but a second glance at the swaying figure 


222 Making Home Peaceful 

to decide that he is intoxicated. See ! he has 
reached the extreme end of the slender walk now, 
though how he has accomplished the feat in his 
unbalanced mental condition is a miracle. He 
stands for a bewildered moment on the stone pier, 
for the walk extends no farther. Quickly, as if 
dimly comprehending the state of affairs, he turns 
to retrace his steps ; his foot catches in the loose 
planks, there is a cry of horror, a splash, and the 
dark waters close over him. The cold water sobers 
him in an instant, and he makes a hard struggle to 
reach the opposite bank. But look ! do you notice 
that heavy beam, just projecting from the surface 
of the water, like the back of some cruel sea mon- 
ster waiting for his victim ? It has caught the poor 
fellow in his downward flight, and his right arm 
hangs limp and helpless at his side. It is an un- 
equal struggle. Visions of a pleasant home, of a 
kind but overindulgent mother and a Christian 
father, and of a little golden-haired sister, float 
like a changing panorama before his eyes. Again 
he feels two tiny arms around his neck, and hears 
a soft, sobbing voice close to his ear: “I guess 
the pretty angel won’t ever leave you.” Then 
a white, aged face and a bent form pass before 



223 




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Making Home Peaceful 


225 


his eyes ; and passages from the Book of God, 
repeated by the trembling lips, seem graven as 
with a pen of fire upon his brain. He thinks of 
that summer evening — oh, so long ago ! — when 
his grandfather died, and the cruel words of a 
reckless lad, the last he ever spoke to the dear 
old man, ring mockingly in his ears. Then- he 
thinks of the noble young man whom he so crt elly 
wronged, and wonders drearily where poor Tom is. 
A vivid panorama of his years of wandering and 
sin and shame, of the many times he had resisted 
the impulse to go home, like the poor prodigal, 
and beg forgiveness, passes before him. O, that 
he had heeded the voice of his good angel ! Now it 
is too late! Is this to be the end? O, for one 
more opportunity to redeem the past 1 He seems 
to have lived a lifetime in one brief moment. 

But help is at hand. A man is standing on the 
bridge. We have not seen him approach ; but he 
must have heard that piercing cry of terror, and 
hurried to the rescue. In his hand he has a long 
rope, fortunately left by the workmen upon the 
bridge. “ Catch the rope ! Hold on to the rope 1 
he cries; “steady! — look out for the timbers! 
That ’s good ; we ’ll have you out of there in no 
15 


226 


Makmg Home Peaceful 


time/’ he continues, cheerfully, as with a strong 
hand he draws the drowning man steadily to the 
bank. The poor fellow is more dead than alive, 
and at first is unable to stand. 

‘‘ I have broken my arm, I think, sir,” he moans, 
in a voice strangely familiar to us, and I have no 
friends in the village — and — and,” he faltered, 

I have no money.” 

“Never mind that, never mind that; I’ll have 
to play the part of the good Samaritan ; for I ’ll 
not leave one of God’s creatures to perish. Why, 
that ’s my work, the work of my life, to help save 
poor souls. There ’s a friend of mine, — or at least 
I’ve known him for the few days I ’ve been in the 
village, and he ’s a noble Christian man, I believe, 
if ever one lived, — and I think he ’ll take you in 
till you ’re able to go home, — did you say you 
were going home ? ” 

“ Home ! ” the very word thrills the wanderer’s 
heart ! Going home ! would they receive him ? 

“ There ’s my friend’s house, right over the 
bridge — that quaint old mansion, with a light in 
the window. They are waiting for me. I ’ve been 
lecturing on temperance in the village, and already 
a few poor souls have been rescued, thank God ! ” 


Making Home Peaceful 


227 


They ascended the stone steps laboriously, for 
the bruised body and broken arm throbbed pain- 
fully, and rang the bell. 

‘‘ Why, Mr. Blake ! you are later than usual. 
I Ve been waiting for you ; wife was tired, and has 
gone to bed. You must have found some personal 
work to do — why — has there been an accident? 
What is the trouble ? ’’ 

At the sound of the familiar tone, the wanderer 
trembled, and shrank farther into the shadow. 

‘‘ WelP’ explained Mr. Blake, “ I was provi- 
dentially detained, and was just crossing the old 
bridge when I heard a cry. My friend here had 
fallen into the water ; and as his arm seems to be 
seriously hurt, he will need care for some time. 
Was I right to bring him here? ” 

‘‘ Yes ! God bless you, yes ! What are we in 
this world for, if not to help one another ! I ’ll call 
Maggie,” and Mr. Willis stepped into another 
room. When he returned, the bright light was 
shining full into the young man’s pain-drawn face. 
With a cry of surprise, his kindly host sprang 
toward him with extended hands : ‘‘ Reginald 

Beardsley ! is it possible ! ” 

‘‘ Yes, it ’s possible, Tom Willis ; and now that 


228 


Making Home Peaceful 


you know who I am, I suppose you will curse me 
for a drunken dog, and turn me out to die ! ” he 
exclaimed, bitterly. 

‘‘ God forbid ! who am I that I should curse one 
for whom Christ died ? ’’ 

At the mention of the name ‘‘Beardsley,” Mr^ 
Blake scrutinized the stranger’s features sharply 

“ ‘ Beardsley ’ ? Young man, what — what is 
your father’s name? ” 

“James Beardsley.” 

Mr. Blake turned, with an eager smile, and laid 
his hand almost caressingly upon the dripping, 
ragged sleeve. “ So you are little Jimmie Beards- 
ley’s son. Praise the Lord ! His ways are past 
finding out ! Why, my boy, your uncle Paul and 
I used to be fast friends — are yet, for that matter. 
He wrote me from India less than a month ago, 
that he was soon coming home to surprise his 
brother. I used to know the whole family — noble 
family, too. The last time I saw your father, he 
was about your age. Didn’t you ever hear him 
mention Sim Blake ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! O sir ! did you know my father? ” 

“ From the time he was a little chap. O, I ’d 
like to see Jimmie ! ” 


Making Home Peaceful 


229 


‘‘ Come, Reginald,”" said Tom, if you ’re able to 
step into the bath-room, I will help you get on 
something dry and warm. I Ve sent a boy after 
the doctor, who ’ll be here shortly ; then we shall, 
know the extent of your injuries. But whatever 
happens, remember you are to have a home here as 
long as you need one.” 

Reginald Beardsley was too humiliated to re- 
ply. He rose silently, and attempted to follow 
his host. Strange memories and stranger emo- 
tions rushed over him. He grew weak and faint, 
a sudden dizziness came upon him, and he fell to 
the floor. 

When he awoke, kind voices sounded in his ear, 
and tender faces bent over him. 

“ I remember you said once,” he sobbed, brok- 
enly, to his host, ‘‘something about ‘heaping coals 
of fire.’ I didn’t know what you meant then, but 
I do now. But how came you here? I thought 
you lived at Miles’ Creek.” 

“ Why, you see, uncle and aunt died some years 
ago ; and then Maggie and I came a little farther 
South, where I found my good wife, — poor fellow ! 
how white you look ! ” 

I need not tell you of the weeks of suffering the 


230 


Making Home Peaceful 


poor wanderer spent at the home of Tom Willis, 
who proved to be a true friend, but will only say 
that, like the prodigal son, he at length decides to 
go back to his father. He has tried the path of 
sin, and found it very grievous. He is sick of 
wandering, sick of sin and shame — sick of the 
old life. He has found it to be a life of vanity and 
vexation of spirit. 

Wonderful is the love of God ! Gracious is his 
long-suffering Spirit ! Slighted, abused, neglected 
for years, it still pleads with a voice of infinite 
pity, “ My son, give me thine heart.” 

At last, covered with humility as with a gar- 
ment, the wanderer yields. The infinite Love that 
has followed him these weary years triumphs, and 
the white-winged messengers about the throne of 
glory shout, — 

“Rejoice ! for the Lord brings back his own !” 

One afternoon early in March the postman 
stopped at the old home in Harrisburg, and handed 
Mrs. Beardsley a letter, addressed in her son’s 
handwriting. At the sight her hand trembled so 
she could not open the envelope. 

“Here, James, open it, — it’s from Regie,” she 


Making Home Peaceful 231 

gasped, and, almost as white as the masses of 
drifting snow outside, sank into her chair. 

The letter told of his years of wandering, — it 
was a long letter, — and of his sin and shame and 
final repentance ; confessed his dishonesty at his 
uncle’s, and told of his determination to repay the 
amount stolen from him ; spoke of his injustice to 
Tom Willis, and told how Tom had taken him in, 
and cared for him like a brother ; and mentioned 
his rescue from a terrible death, by his father’s old 
friend, Sim Blake, whom he had induced soon to 
accompany him home. 

We will listen to the last paragraph of the 
letter : — 

Mother, I must return to Harrisburg, and redeem the past ; 
and as I have made the home of my parents a place of discord 
and unhappiness, I desire now, by God’s grace, to unite with 
them and my sisters in the beautiful work of Making Home 
Peaceful. 

James Beardsley smiled through his tears as he 
glanced at the wife of his youth, upon whose face 
the peace of God rested like a benediction, — a face 
stamped by a character made perfect through 
suffering, — and said, reverently: ‘‘‘And my 
people shall dwell in a peaceable habitation. 


232 


Making Home Peaceful 


and in sure dwellings, and in quiet resting-places. 
And the work of righteousness shall be peace ; 
and the effect of righteousness quietness and as- 
surance forever.’ ” 





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